Turning Japanese
by Casey Greene
Summary: Somebody likes Hoshi!! Sorry about chapter 6...In the middle of english class i realized I had to re-write the end. My score on the vocab quiz should be quite interesting...
1. January 2

Turning Japanese 

By Casey Greene

~*~

_I've got your picture of me and you   
You wrote "I love you"   
I love you too   
I sit here staring and there's nothing else to do.   
Oh, it's in color   
Your hair is brown   
Your eyes are hazel   
And soft as clouds   
I often kiss you when there's no one else around._

  
  


~*~

~***~ Personal log, Hoshi Sato. Wednesday, January 2. ~***~

The oddest thing happened today. Well, perhaps I had better start at the beginning instead of somewhere near the end.

There, that's better.

This morning, I woke up at 0537, just like I always do. I don't know why, but I always wake up at that time. I lay in bed until 0542, like I always do, and then I got up. I stood up, stretched, sighed, and looked around my room. I always get up on the left side of the bed. I just have to. Even to the point of switching the head and foot of the bed around. As a lowly ensign, I have to share quarters with another ensign, Diana Howard, who works with Doctor Phlox in Sickbay. She's a nice roommate, a pretty redheaded girl from Willimina, Montana, fresh out of the Academy. She isn't in the room when I am usually, because we have different duty shifts, and she spends a lot of time with her long-term boyfriend, Jeremy Sminta in Engineering. But when we are together, we get along alright, we like the same music, and haven't had any arguments over room décor or anything. And for some reason, I feel like she will go on to accomplish a great many things. 

But back to the point. I looked around my room, and found everything in order. The bookshelf next to the door had all my books lined up neatly, Diana's paintings were hanging the right way on the walls, and the flowers I had arranged in the vase on the table still looked fresh, thanks to a little chemical help. But the room still seemed a little-lacking in something; I couldn't quite put my finger on it. But I put it in the back of my mind as I slipped off my pajamas, folded them and put them under my pillow, and walked over to the bathroom to take a shower.

The day passed normally, and we encountered no aliens (or mysterious alien communications, thank goodness!), so I relayed communications aboard the ship, and tried to work out the bugs in the Universal Translator program. All in all, it was a boring day. True, I did help keep the warp reactor online by keeping the many sections of Engineering together when the shipwide comm system went off and I did get the UT to recognize 20 more verb forms, and combined Starfleet's latest language database updates on Klingon with our database, and increased the average speed of translation 3.72 percent, but other than that, well, not much happened.

But when I got off duty at 1400 hours, stopped at the mess hall for lunch and a snack for later, and finally got to my quarters, I found a surprise propped up against my door. It was a rectangular object wrapped in pale ivory paper and shiny gold ribbon tied around it. I thought perhaps Jeremy had left it for Diana, but when I picked it up, a smaller piece of paper fell onto the floor. I picked up, and admired the picture of a black crane on the front before unfolding it. Inside, only one word was written: Hoshi. I smiled; I had a secret admirer! Who could it be, I wondered.

I went inside, for it would be unseemly for me to open my gift in the hallway, and I was hungry besides. I put on some classical music, and sat down on my bed, cross-legged against the wall with my pillow propped up behind me. It was the way I always sat. I put my lunch, a salad and fried rice, in front of me, and I opened the present. I carefully pulled the ribbon off and put it aside, a small memento of the moment, and took off the thick ivory paper that concealed the object inside. The wrapping paper had not been taped, the ribbon had been the only thing holding the folded paper on. Inside was a book. I turned it over, but the cover was blank. I opened it, and discovered a collection of haiku poems, hand-written in Japanese. It was beautiful. There was one poem on the right page, and on the facing page was a tinted illustration of the poem. I sat there for several minutes, just looking in amazement at the book. I finally remembered my lunch when my stomach growled loudly. I reluctantly put the book next to me so I wouldn't get food on it and quickly ate my lunch without much tasting it. 

Who could my secret admirer be? My birthday wasn't for months, nor had there been any recent holidays celebrated. Perhaps it was a late New Year's gift! Yes, that must be it. Too bad. But who could have given it to me?

After I finished my lunch, I washed my hands and went back to the book. I sat there for a while, reading the poems and admiring the pictures. One poem especially caught my fancy. It was apparently based on a story published a few years ago. It translates to

Light through the wing of   
Bumblebee is rainbow world   
Circling always

The story was a series of short stories, the first one being a human's story, and ending with their wish to be a bumblebee. The next story was from a bumblebee's point of view, and it had discovered a world that existed when the sunlight shone through its wings, making a rainbow on the surface that the bumblebee stood upon. It wished it could live there. The next one was from a being inside the rainbow world, describing it's Eden-like environment and the shortness of it's existence, and it wished it could live inside an even smaller world that was found in drops of water that the beings fed upon. The final story was from one of those beings, and they told the shortest story, saying that they were the creators of a world which was inhabited by humans, and how it wished it could live there, making a full circle. It made such an impression when it was released, I had heard news communiqués that a new religion had been founded, worshipping bumblebees and setting their places of habitude in warm areas with lots of sunshine. I had been deeply moved when I heard it, but not to quite that degree. 

I sat there, unmoving, until Diana came in, apparently several hours later, and broke my half-asleep trance. I opened my eyes which had mysteriously closed on me, and smiled at her.

"Tired?" she had asked.

"Not so much anymore, thanks," I replied. "Guess what I found outside the door?" I asked her. She had much more experience with this sort of thing. Alien languages I could understand, male behavior I could not. I handed her the book and the card, and her face lit up when she had carefully examined them.

"Ooh, somebody likes Hoshi!" she sang gleefully. "Do you know who it is?"

"Not a clue," I admitted.

"Ooh, how fun! You lucky girl! I wish _I_ had a secret admirer!"

"What about Jeremy?" I asked, confused.

"Yes, that's true. But it would be fun! Ooh, speaking of Jeremy, help me pick out a dress, tonight's our six-month anniversary! Can you believe it, six months we've been together..." We picked out a sultry black and gold dress which made her hair's natural blondish highlights stand out beautifully. I let her borrow my black sandals, as she couldn't find anything of hers to match. She looked so wonderful, I made her stand still for a picture. I made the excuse that she would want it to show her children and grandchildren, but really I wanted to try my hand at painting, and I figured if it came out okay, I could give it to her, as a family heirloom. If it came out great, though, I would keep it! Perhaps to show any future Sato generations that I hadn't been completely without talent.

So yes. That was my day. And my surprise. I wonder who my secret admirer is?

  
  


~***~ End Personal log. ~***~

  
  


~*~


	2. February 4

Turning Japanese 

By Casey Greene

~*~

_I've got your picture, I've got your picture   
I'd like a million of you over myself   
I want the doctor to take your picture   
So I can look at you from inside as well   
You've got me turning up and turning down   
And turning in and turning round_

~*~

~***~ Personal log, Hoshi Sato. Monday, February 4. ~***~

This has been the worst week ever. We celebrated Porthos's birthday on Friday with a big party in the mess hall. I kind-of sort-of went with Malcolm (who I'm beginning to think is my secret admirer; he keeps looking at me in that funny way that people do when they like someone), and we were having fun, he was telling some awfully funny jokes, and then Trip showed up (who I wouldn't have minded being my secret admirer) with a very stunning T'Pol on his arm. The whole room practically stopped when they came in. She had been acting funny lately (not funny-haha or funny-weird, but funny-_human_), but when I saw her, I was still shocked. She was wearing this sexy, skin-tight green gown, but what was even more shocking was that she was wearing this half-smile on her face and a twinkle in her eye, like she knew something nobody else did. She looked happy. Every male in the room was practically drooling on her, but she was totally oblivious to it (not that I blame her). I mentally crossed Trip off my list of who my secret admirer could be; he was quite obviously take with the Sub-Commander. 

They came over, and she and I chatted for a bit while our two dates got us drinks. When she and Trip went off to dance, Malcolm told me this joke about the Stonehenge and Klingons, and (of course) T'Pol looked over just in time to see me snorting into my drink, and Malcolm trying to mop me up. Man, if looks could kill! I was so embarrassed. Then a little bit later she went and fainted on Trip, and to make a short story shorter, the party broke up not long after he carried her off to Sickbay. 

Then this morning, Dr. Phlox called the Captain to Sickbay, and when he came back, he said that T'Pol was awake. When we pressed him for details, his face became flushed and he said that was her business. I asked quietly to be excused from duty early, but he said no. 

When I got off at 1400, I went to the mess hall, got some lunch (a sandwich Malcolm had said was his favorite), and walked back to my quarters. I was probably one of the few people on this ship who knew anything about Vulcans, and I figured if she needed help, she would probably go to either me or Dr. Phlox. Still, I was surprised when she ran into me, her eyes full of tears. Feminine instinct kicking in, I put my arm around he shoulder and led her to my quarters. By my door was a long, thin ivory-colored package, wrapped with the same gold ribbon. I bent down to get it as I pushed the entry button and helped T'Pol through the door. I sat her down on my bed, put the package on the table, and made some tea. I love tea. I always keep some in my quarters so that I don't have to walk all the way to the mess hall if I feel a craving. I sat down next to her, put my arm around her, trying to comfort her. She cried for a while, and then when she had calmed down a bit, she told me everything that had happened, between sobs and sniffles. Trip, everybody's friend, had professed his love for her, and as it turned out, she loved him too. She had to break the mating bond in her head, either by returning to an unexpressive Vulcan state, or by bonding and mating with someone else. After some soul-searching, she chose Trip, but when she explained the whole thing to him, he turned on her and accused her of wanting him for a sex toy! To say the very least, I was outraged! She was in a very delicate condition, especially since she was expressing her emotions for the first time ever, and it was beyond cruel to lead her on like that, and then tear her up like that. In that moment, I lost all respect I ever had for him. I held her for a few more minutes, telling her that everything was going to be OK, that she should get some rest. I ran over to Sickbay to get some sleeping pills from Dr. Phlox, since she was in no condition to go to sleep on her own. 

"Hey Doctor? Do you have any sleeping-" _He_ was there. Sitting on one of the medical biobeds. He turned around, and looked rather surprised when I glared at him icily. Asshole. "Do you have any sleeping pills?" 

"Are you having problems sleeping, Ensign?" he asked. 

"No, they're for- a friend." I was specifically ignoring _him_. 

"May I inquire as to who?" 

"Um, I'd rather discuss that in private," I answered, folding my arms behind my back in a subconsciously defensive position. 

"Very well. I should be back in a moment, Commander Tucker. Come into my office, Ensign Sato." He walked into his office and sat down behind the desk. "What can I do for you?" 

"Doctor," I started, sitting down in the chair, "I ran into T'- Sub-Commander T'Pol, and I feel that as I'm sure you are already familiar with her situation, I think that she needs a rest." As I said the words, I heard how stupid they sounded. I prayed he would be able to see that I was trying to help her. "I'm sure you know that she has just had a rather traumatic experience, and a nice, long nap would do her good, but I don't think she could bring herself to sleep in the conditions she is in. Please, Doctor." I prayed that he would take pity on her. 

He looked at me for a moment, then said, "Very well, Ensign. I can give her a small dose of something that will put her to sleep for a few hours. Will that be sufficient?" Thank heaven he understood! 

"That should do it. Thank you!" He handed me a capped vial of clear liquid he got from the cabinet behind him. I turned to leave when he spoke. 

"Ensign, before you go-" I turned around to face him. "I think that it would be beneficial for you to see Commander Tucker before you hit the mess hall." 

I looked at him uncertainly. "Now, Doctor?" 

"No, but sometime soon. So you know both sides of their story. Not that it's any of your business," he paused, and I felt myself blushing slightly. "-but their situation is a unique one, and I think they would benefit from the aid of a sort of mediator." I nodded solemnly, and left the room. I still couldn't bring myself to look at him. After what he did to her? How could I? But the doctor's words rung in my head. Perhaps when the situation didn't feel so utterly _cruel_. 

I walked back to my quarters, and found T'Pol sitting just where I had left her, looking at the floor. I placed the vial on the table, and sat next to her. She was shivering. I felt her forehead, but she had no fever other than her normal temperature. I grabbed the blanket from Diana's bed, and wrapped it around her. I made her drink the medicine, reassuring her that she was just going to rest for a while. She laid down on my bed, and I made sure the blanket covered her. She looked so vulnerable. Poor dear. I wrote a note to Diana asking her to bunk with Leslie or Candace, promising I'd explain later, and taped it above the entry panel outside the door. 

I went back into my quarters and plopped myself down as quietly as possible in the chair next to the table. This had been one hell of a day. I looked around the silent room, silent but for the almost unnoticeable sound of T'Pol breathing quietly in her sleep. As my eyes found their way back to the table next to me, I noticed the package, still unopened, sitting in the center of it. It was approximately 25 centimeters long, and about two wide. I picked it up, and it felt almost wand-like in my hand. Perhaps someone was implying I had cast a spell upon them! I took off the gold ribbon, and unfolded the thick paper as quietly as I could. It was a pair of chopsticks. 

They were glossy black, with four sides, tapering to a point at one end. The other end was painted red, a stripe covering the top six centimeters of each chopstick. On each of the four sides was painted in gold a word in Japanese: Peace, Prosperity, Happiness, and Love. 

I thought about the words. Peace is hard to come by on a starship, that much I've learned. There's always something happening, and there's no such thing as a boring day on the Enterprise. But it can be found sometimes. Prosperity is different for everyone, depending on how you define it. For me, prosperity is being happy with myself, the things I do, and the decisions I make. By my own definition, I am moderately prosperous. There are some parts of my life I regret, some things I would give the world to do over, but for the most part, I am content with the things I've done. Happiness is a state of mind. For me to be completely happy, I would want to be surrounded with people I love and am comfortable with. And I am. I'm going places I never dreamed of, meeting people I never thought I would, and finding a whole new aspect of myself I never thought I had. 

Love. Love is a wonderful and volatile emotion; it is the subject of countless poems, stories, movies, and songs, it will continue to be so forever. Love has driven people to death, and brought people back from it. Love has toppled empires and created whole worlds. Love is incredible. Love is wonderful. I love my family, my friends, my new shipmates, my work. I love myself, how I've grown in ways I've never imagined. I love how I continue to grow, even now. Writing my personal log. Putting down my thoughts and feelings, and seeing myself reflected in them. I look back to the chopsticks and see the book of poetry near the top of the table. 

And now, someone loves me. 

~**~ End Personal Log ~**~ 

~*~


	3. February 20

Turning Japanese 

By Casey Greene 

~*~ 

_I'm turning Japanese   
I think I'm turning Japanese   
I really think so   
Turning Japanese   
I think I'm turning Japanese   
I really think so   
I'm turning Japanese   
I think I'm turning Japanese   
I really think so   
Turning Japanese   
I think I'm turning Japanese   
I really think so_

~*~ 

~***~ Personal log, Hoshi Sato. Wednesday, March 20. ~***~ 

Some days, I wish I had just stayed on Earth. No, I take that back. I wish I had never woken up from when I fainted in grade school. Today, everything went wrong. It wasn't any one big thing, but just everything. Captain Archer had a particularly vociferous group of aliens tour the ship (against the admonitions of T'Pol, poor dear.) And even though my nose isn't as sensitive as her Vulcan one, my olfactory senses were severely strained, as the aliens' smell was redolent throughout the bridge even hours after they had left. 

My console flat-out refused to work when I was halfway finished backing up the UT upgrades, and after Trip had spent two hours trying to fix it (he said something about blowing fuses, but I never really got into the whole technical thing), all my work had been lost, and I had to reconfigure everything! And this was all though Travis's long and boring (and technical) narrative of when somebody-or-other he grew up with broke the sound barrier when he was, like, 5. his story evoked memories of my high school history class. It was usually really interesting, and I loved most of it, but my teacher, Mr. Teak, was seriously obsessed with stuff like that. When he started in on one of those stories of his, all I could think of was something I once heard in English class, from the guy who sat next to me, "nauseum ad infinitum". Of course, he was talking about pronoun use, but it worked just the same. I wonder whatever happened to him? Ian Janeway was one of the neatest people I knew. 

So after three hours of reconfiguring my console and trying to reload everything, I got so sick of it, I just sort of cracked. You see, there was this one file that refused to let itself be transferred, and I tried-I really did!-so hard to get that thing loaded, but it just wouldn't. So I let out a little scream and whacked my fist on the console. Travis had long since finished his story (thank goodness!), and the bridge was mostly silent except for the little blips and whirrs of the machinery. Until I made everyone jump two meters in the air because I couldn't control myself. 

"Is there a problem, Hoshi?" the Captain had asked after a pause. 

I sighed. "No, Sir. Just a little stressed, I suppose. Could I run down to the mess hall real quick for something to eat?" I asked. I had heard this morning that Cookie was going to make a double chocolate fudge cake... 

"Why don't you take the rest of the day off? You can make up the time later," he said, waving off my protests. "I'll call the Mess Hall, make sure they've got a nice big slice of-what was it? Double chocolate fudge cake? Yeah, don't you worry one bit. Every officer needs a vacation sometimes." He smiled at me in a very fatherly fashion -I guess he sort of is the father of the ship- , but I could have sworn I saw him wink at me. 

"Thank you, Captain. And- " I saw Malcolm staring at me, a very dreamy half-smile on his face. I couldn't take the chance and wink at him, but I did smile, and after a moment, he realized I was smiling at him, and ducked his head down. I looked at him a moment longer, long enough to see him look back up at me, face and neck flushed. "Thank you," I finished, looking back at the Captain. He tilted his head slightly, with a puzzled smile on his face. I just grinned, nodded, and walked to the turbolift. 

T'Pol's station was right by the turbolift, and I paused to put my hand on the top of her console. She was completely engrossed in what she was doing, probably trying to keep herself from thinking too much about everything that had been happening. She looked up at me, startled, and I smiled at her reassuringly. She nodded, and smiled a little. One of the first times I'd seen her smile recently. I felt her eyes following me as I walked off the bridge. 

As the turbolift doors closed, I slumped down the wall to the floor, put my head between my knees, my arms over my head, and heaved a huge sigh. I was about ready to fall asleep, but if I did, I would just end up on a bed in Sickbay, with everyone hanging all over me, and scared out of their wits for the second female bridge officer that's fallen unconscious recently. Not a fun experience. After about a minute, I stood up and put my hand on the control to take me to the mess hall level. And after one more deep breath, I pressed the button. 

When I got out of the turbolift, I walked almost directly into Diana and Leslie, who were just getting off shift. I apologized, but asked Diana to come back to our quarters when she was free, because I wanted to talk to her. She agreed, confused, but smiled at me when I started toward the mess hall again. I felt like shit. 

As I entered the mess hall, I dropped my ostensibly pleasant demeanor, and trudged over to Cookie's buffet, put my arms on the counter, and hung my head. 

"So! How's our favorite chatterbox doing?" he asked cheerily. I lifted my head and glared at him. 

"Not so good, eh?" He hadn't faltered a bit. "That would explain why I got a special order from the Captain himself for an extra-large piece of my extra-special double chocolate fudge cake, hmm? Well, here you go, milady," he said, bringing a plate of dark, dark brown chocolate cake from under the counter. "And a complimentary glass of milk. Don't worry, it's on the house." He still had that smile on his face, so I tried to return it. But judging by how his expression changed ever so slightly, I don't think it quite worked. 

"I m sorry," I said. "I've just had one hell of a day. You know, the ones where all the stuff you've been trying to avoid comes crashing down on you, spines and claws blazing." He nodded solemnly. 

"Like when were attacked a few months ago. All my spices and pots and pans and utensils fall out of the cabinets, and my soup sloshed all over the floor and my coolies got burned! It was just terrible!" He said this with complete earnestness as I ate my cake. Suddenly, I just burst out laughing. And I couldn't stop. After a minute, Cookie started laughing too, but when we finally stopped, we still had huge grins on our faces. 

"Thanks. I needed that." I drowned the last of my milk and set the cup down on the counter with a resounding clack. "Hit me again, Bartender." 

He smiled, but said, "No, ma'am, I think I'm going to have to cut you off." I looked in horror at my half-eaten piece of cake, and back at Cookie. 

"No! You can't do this to me! I need the milk! You must give it to me! I can't live without it!" I cried in mock alarm, but with a hint of true desperation. 

"Okay, okay! You can have your milk!" He took my glass and refilled it from an aluminum pitcher. 

"Thank you. Can I take these to my quarters? I promised my roommate I'd only be a bit." That wasn't exactly what I had said, but close enough to what I meant. 

"Okay. Do you want me to help you?" he asked me. 

"Huh? Two hands, one cup, one plate. I think I'm cool." I was very confused. Did he think I was going to carry my fork separately? 

He pointed behind me, to the tables. "Someone left you something, where you usually sit. Didn't you see it when you came in? No, I guess not." I turned around, and saw a glass bowl where, true to his word, I usually sat. I looked at him, curious, and walked over to the bowl. 

It was a fishbowl, filled three-quarters of the way up with water, silvery-white pebbles on the bottom, and two goldfish swimming around. One was calico, with black, white and orange spots on it, and the other was white, with a little orange spot on his dorsal fin. Around the lip of the bowl, was a gold ribbon like the ones that had been on my other presents. I picked it up, and carried it carefully back to Cookie to show him. 

"Look at this! It's so cute! Who left it for me?" I held it up for him to see, and he inspected it with his usual smile. 

"It's darling. But I can't tell you who it was; I've been sworn to secrecy. Do you know what you're going to name them yet?" he said, trying to change the subject. 

"Oh, Cookie! Tell me, please! This is the third present I've gotten, and I really want to know who to thank! Please?" I looked at him with an expression I had been told was 'irresistible'. 

"Nope," he said shaking his head. "Can't tell. Promised on my favorite spoon." 

"Hmmph. Well, can you tell me anything about him?" 

He appeared to consider this. After a moment, he leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, "Well, he likes you very much, because you're all he ever talks about, and half the time he's in here, he doesn't even eat, he just sits and sighs and looks at you or where you sit. And I can't tell you who he is. And you have to get back to your quarters, if I am not mistaken. Would you like some help?" 

"Oh, umm..." I looked at my three items. I could carry my glass between my arm and my body, and the fish in one and my plate in the other, but I wanted to carry the fish with two hands. "Okay. Are you allowed to leave?" 

He laughed. "It's not like I'm a prisoner, or live here or anything! Of course I can leave. I'll just leave Moiré in charge of dishing out my cake." He took his apron off over his head, hung it on the wall, and came around the side of the buffet. He picked up my plate and cup, and waited for me to pick up my fish and start toward the door before starting to walk. 

"So what are you going to name them? Have you decided yet?" 

"Hmm, I'm not quite sure. I'm thinking of Burton Raffel and Lowell Blair, or maybe Edward Conze. I don't know. Why? Was that part of the promise too? Find out what I'd name them?" I smiled at him as we passed by the doors to the gymnasium. 

He smiled back and blushed slightly. "Maybe. But where did you come up with those names?" 

"They translated famous books. Burton Raffel did an edition of Beowulf, Lowell Blair did Cyrano De Bergerac, and Edward Conze helped out with some Buddhist Scriptures. They're really not that odd, if you're coming from the same place I am." 

"And where are you coming from?" I nodded toward the turbolift, and smiled as he let me go in first. "Come on, tell me. I've got to have something unique and personal to tell your anonymous benefactor. He'd be quite upset if I didn't have anything to say except 'She liked them'. So please. Continue." He smiled pleadingly as he pressed the button for my level. How did he know what level I was on? Hmm... 

"Well, as a translator, not only did I have to learn lots of languages, I also had to study examples of translations that had been done in the past. For one of the exercises, we were given a passage from a text in the original form, translate it, and see how closely it compared to an already-done one. I remember learning how over time, connotations and secondary meanings of words changed, and oftentimes, a seemingly innocuous paragraph would have been very explicit or controversial in it's original time period. And then the three Don't's of translating. I will always remember those," I said, purposely leaving a door open as the turbolift doors opened to my level. I walked out, and turned to the left. Cookie wasn't far behind me, and caught up in three steps. 

"What are the three Don't's?" he asked me, still smiling. 

"Don't rush, don't judge, and don't forget," I replied. 

"Don't forget what?" 

"Don't forget anything. Don't forget to take your time, keep an open mind, and remember that those who forget their history are doomed to repeat it. And that is the purpose of translators, to make sure no one forgets what others have spent so long finding out." As I finished, I stopped in front of my quarters. "Is that good enough for Mr. Mysterious?" I asked with a smile. 

"I think so." 

I opened the door, and set the bowl on the table just inside. "Here, let me take those," I said, as I held out my hand and Cookie handed me my cup and cake. As I put them on the table next to my fish, I saw Diana already inside, and mouthed "Hi, one sec," to her. "Thanks for your help. So what should I feed little Burton and Lowell?" 

"Burton and Lowell. Such English-sounding names," he remarked, trying to keep the conversation going. 

"Well, the English nobility had the most money and time on their hands, and a lot of them, useless as they sounded, were actually quite invaluable historically. They helped uncovered a lot of knowledge that could have been lost otherwise." I considered telling him about Heinrich Schliemann and Troy, but wanted to talk to Diana, and besides, he was German. 

"Mmm. I see," he lied, in that way people do when they have no clue what the other person is saying. "How about I send Moiré or myself back here with some fish food for Burton and Lowell? Would that be okay?" 

"Yeah, sure. Again, thanks. And the cake's great." I smiled as I stepped back inside the room. 

"Bye!" he called as I closed the door. I leaned back against it, looked at Diana, sitting on my bed, and sighed. 

"I am soooooo tired!" I said, pushing myself off the door, and sitting down next to her heavily. 

"Miss Scarlet," she said, standing up, "In the mess Hall, with a fork! Flirting with Cookie, are we? You shameless hussy, you!" she laughed. 

"Like you never have! And I wasn't trying to, I was just-" 

"Flirting with him!" We both laughed. 

"I was going to say 'thanking him', but then somebody cut me off!" I said, and we both started laughing again. I told her about my day so far, but when I got to the part where Trip had to fix my console, she interrupted again. 

"Yeah, he's been weird lately. I don't know what's wrong with him." She looked at me suspiciously. "Do you?" 

"No," I replied, not very honestly, but still bound by my loyalty to T'Pol and my promise to Doctor Phlox. "But I've noticed it too. I hope it's not anything serious." 

"You should talk to him, Hoshi. You're pretty good friends with him, right? And he seems really upsexy! Er, upset." She blushed, and I giggled in spite of myself. 

"Whaat? You like Tri-ip? Oooh! Tsk-tsk! Naughty girl!" 

"Well, you have to admit, he is cute!" 

"I guess...if you like little boys with toys." 

"Oh, well, Trip's not the only one with toys! What about...MALCOLM!" She yelled his name out, and I squealed and jumped back, startled. 

She crossed her arms and smiled. "Oh, so the tables have turned now! You like Malcolm, you like Malcolm! And if he's your secret admirer-" 

"That hasn't been proven yet!" I protested. 

"-Well, fine. But you'd have to be dead not to see how he looks at you! And he blushed almost as much as you did! Hehe! Malcolm an' Hoshi, sittin' in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G! First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby-" 

"In the shuttlepod carriage!" I finished for her, and we both burst out laughing, laughing until tears were running down our faces. Every time we stopped, we'd look at the other one and start all over again. 

You know, who really needs a life of adventure? If you've got friends who love you, and little surprises to add flavor, do you really need aliens dragging you off to parts unknown, or time-back-future-portal thingies? I sure don't. Maybe I've been mistaking that lack of excitement and adventure and fear (yes, fear) or boredom and anxiety. Because it hasn't been such a bad day, now that I think about it. In fact, it's been pretty good. I mean, look back. I woke up healthy and alive, with a place to sleep, food to eat, clothing to wear, and a useful job. We made friends with a brand new species of aliens, who will probably end up becoming our allies and we will have prosperous trade relations with them. I'm lucky because the problem with my console could be fixed, I wasn't killed by it, and I was able to be civil to Trip. I should probably talk to him soon. And even with Travis's story, it reminded me of Ian, I should look him up, see what he's up t o. And I got two adorable fishes, and got to talk with Cookie and have some of his marvelous cake. 

What if it was Malcolm? What would I do? I sort of like him, but do I like him enough to have a relationship with him? I mean, he's a real Starfleet officer, and a superior one at that. And there's an unwritten cultural taboo about relationships between officers of different ranks. And if it is Malcolm, then I don't think he just wants a one-night-stand or anything. I think he wants something more serious, more substantial. And I think that I would want a real relationship, too. 

But what if it's not Malcolm? What if it's someone else? But who else could it be? Trip was busy with T'Pol, but what about the others? Maybe it's Cookie. He would know where I usually sat, and would have seen me eating alone most of the time. Maybe it's one of the good ol' boys in Engineering. Why do the engines get all the cute guys? Or maybe it's Doctor Phlox's assistant. Or Moiré. 

But why anyone would like me, Hoshi, is beyond my comprehension. I'm a nobody. But not to everybody, it seems. Thank you, dear someone. I am quite flattered. 

~***~ End Personal Log. ~***~ 

~*~ 


	4. April 19

Turning Japanese

by Casey Greene

~*~ 

_I've got your picture, I've got your picture   
I'd like a million of them all over myself   
I want the doctor to take your picture   
So I can look at your from inside as well   
You've got me turning up and turning down   
And turning in and turning 'round_

~*~ 

~***~ Personal log, Hoshi Sato. Friday, April 19. ~***~ 

Have you noticed that I always seem to start out these logs with a complaint? "It's been one hell of a week", "Today was the worst day", things like that? Well, you know what? I'm going to try not to, from now on. Even if it has been another lousy day, I'll try to start off with something cheerful. Because my life isn't anywhere near as bad as I say it is. Hmm... I've just gone through the past few month's logs. The only ones that start off so negatively are the ones I write about my secret admirer! Hmm... I wonder why. Maybe because he _still_ hasn't told me who he is, and I _really_ want to know! Although, I do have a pretty good idea, after today... But let's start at the beginning, which is a very good place to start, and a starting place that makes the rest of the story make sense. 

It's been interesting these last few days. We stopped at a trading station near the Handou system, and T'Pol, Trip, Malcolm, Lieutenant Amirtha from security and I were assigned shore/research/repair/trade leave. To T'Pol's not-so-hidden amusement, Trip caught a bug on the first day and has been lying in Sickbay since he got back. The Captain wanted to take us out right away, but I convinced him to let me stay. Malcolm insisted on coming along, both to trade for some parts we needed and to protect me. Isn't he sweet? He always does things like that. Makes me wonder sometimes, if he does it for everyone, or just for me, and if he has an ulterior motive... 

Malcolm and I stayed on the station for two days, coming back to the shuttlepod for about six hours to sleep, but the rest of the time we were out and about. Over the three days, the Universal Translator and I learned 18 new languages. This helped enormously, because Malcolm was itching to get his hands on some of the wares on the station. Like guns. On the first day, we wandered into the back section of a branch, and found a small stall with a Beltak manning it. Malcolm asked him what he had to offer, and after looking us over, he motioned us to the back room. He opened what looked like a huge tool chest and folded out some shelves. There must have been about sixty different kinds of guns in there! Malcolm looked like a kid in a candy shop. I let him look at the guns for about half an hour while I fiddled with the UT, and then I told him we had to leave. He protested a little, looking just like my seven-year-old nephew Harold, but eventually left. He seemed a little depressed, but not five minutes after we left, he was back to his normal self. 

After we left the Beltak, we ambled about the rest of the station, and with the help of the UT, and me, Malcolm got his hands on a phase-induction assembly and a different (hope: _better_) type of plasma coil relay thingamajig, and a few other parts that were definitely very exciting. To Malcolm. I was more interested in the local equivalent of a bookshop. 

I don't know exactly what it was, a family-run library or a collection of writings, but Liahna, the female I spoke to, seemed as overjoyed as I was to find another being so interested in languages and literature. In exchange for what seemed to be copies of the whole collection of books and writings in her shop, I gave her copies of all the literature in our database. I also traded her a copy of my universal translator program and database for hers, as she was working on something similar, and had a database of her own, containing the 27 languages all the things in her shop were written in, plus about fifteen or sixteen languages she had encountered on the station. I think this was by far, the best trade the _Enterprise_ has made to date. Malcolm practically had to drag me out of there, and when I made a pouting face at him, he laughed, and offered to carry the bags of datapads that Liahna's collection was on. I handed him the rather heavy bags, and he rearranged the padds to make room for his "treasures". We wandered around for a few more hours, but spent more time talking to each other than trading. 

When we got back to the shuttle, we could hardly get to sleep, we were so excited about what we had found, both at the station and about each other. But somehow, we managed to find ourselves falling asleep soon after we changed into our pajamas. No, I didn't look at him while he was changing! But the sight of him in Starfleet-issue shorts and t-shirt removed any doubt in my mind of his capability of fighting any foe. I can't deny that he didn't attract me in the slightest, because he did, he was in fact very attractive, but I think I'll keep myself crushless for the time being. Until my secret admirer reveals himself, at least. 

I had an interesting dream that night. I was back on the ship, and I was walking around in my pajamas. Everyone else that I normally see was there too, but they took no notice of my lack of uniform. I heard some footsteps behind me, so I turned around. Porthos was walking behind me, with a little ivory paper-covered box in his mouth. I knelt down, and took it out of his mouth. As I unwrapped it, he said, "Hoshi, will you marry me?" The box was covered with black velvet, and inside was a beautifully sparkling engagement ring. The ring was the one I'd picked out as a teenager, one I'd still love to have. I opened my mouth to speak, but when I looked up, there was nothing there. I stood up, and started walking back the way I came, but there was no sign of him, or anyone else for that matter. I looked back at the ring, but it was gone too. I don't remember anything else I dreamed until I woke up. I wonder what it meant? That was definitely one of my weirder dreams. 

On the second day, we did some more parts trading, but after stumbling upon what appeared to be the farmer's market, we decided to stock up on some foodstuffs. While Malcolm haggled over the prices and I translated, some nefarious creature tried to steal our bag. I saw the dark shape creeping toward us from the shadow cast by a container of greenish-pink vegetables, and as it slowly came closer, I turned my head to look at it better. Three bright green-yellow eyes met my gaze, and it scrambled forward and a grayish hand with three long fingers shot out, and grabbed the strap of the bag. I was standing less than a third of a meter away, so I reached out and grabbed it, pulling it upwards. As I swept it up into the air, the creature held on and was picked up off the ground. It started squawking in outrage, somewhere between the noises a parrot and a kitten make. It weighed only a few kilos, and had a dingy black robe on. The first thing it reminded me of was a Jawa from the old Star Wars movies of the late 20th century, except for the fact that Jawas didn't have whip-like tails. Thank goodness it wasn't long enough to hit me, it looked rather painful. Malcolm and the vegetable seller looked over at me, and the man started laughing. 

"I see you've met the resident p'latrujj! Don't worry, he's just curious, he probably wouldn't hurt you much. Lower your bag so Jutaak can reach the floor with his feet and he'll leave you alone." I looked at the vegetable seller with unhidden skepticism, but when Malcolm nodded slightly I slowly lowered the bag, and sure enough, once the creature touched the floor, it scampered away, still squawking. I made a quick inspection of the bag and it's contents, and put it on my shoulder. I walked back to Malcolm and the vegetable seller, and put on my sweetest smile. 

"Since I was kind enough to allow your p'latrujj to live," I said to the man, "why don't you give us a real good deal on these guatts and hasheems, hmm?" He stopped laughing, and named a very reasonable price. 

"Done." I dug out two large flasks of Jack Daniels whiskey and handed them to Malcolm while I zipped up the bag. The man grinned, and I smiled back, saying "Nice doing business with you." he opened one of the flasks and took a small sip, and then a larger one. 

"You drive a hard but fair bargain. When would you like your guatts and hasheems delivered?" he asked. 

"Be at Pod Bay 94 in one hour, local time, and don't be late." I smiled once more at him as I walked away from the stall, Malcolm following behind, jogging to catch up. 

"What did you say to him?" he asked me, his British accent revealing his amazement. 

"I told him that since I let his creature live, he should give us a good deal on the vegetables. We have about forty minutes to kill before he delivers them." I looked over at Malcolm, and watched his jaw drop slightly, and then he burst out laughing. 

"Hoshi," he said as he put his arm around my shoulders, "You never cease to amaze me." I felt a blush threatening to rise in my cheeks, and I looked around. 

"I'm hungry from all that shopping. Let's find someplace to eat. Like... Ooh, right over there!" I pointed at some sort of cafe-bistro-tavern place, and Malcolm slowly let his arm drop, politely pulling away before his hand brushed my rear. 

"Should I scout ahead and warn off any small creatures hiding in the shadows?" he joked. I laughed and winked at him. He winked back and I put my arm through his, and we walked over to the restaurant. 

We had a nice lunch, lots of laughs, and got back to the shuttle just before our vegetables arrived, hauled in a cart by a younger version of the vegetable seller. 

"I'm not late, I got here early!" the boy exclaimed when he saw us standing by the bay doors. 

"I know. That's why you're still alive." I smiled at him, and he gulped. He took off the vegetable containers, and I found in my pocket a chip of what passed for local currency, change from lunch. When the boy finished unloading, he glanced back at me, and I tossed him the chip. He caught it with both hands, and after inspecting it, looked at me curiously. 

"Thank you." He smiled warily, and shook his head as he pushed the cart back the way he came. I looked over at Malcolm, and he was shaking his head with a big grin on his face. "What are you laughing at?" I asked him, and we both started laughing. After a moment, Malcolm looked at me in that same dreamy way he had about a month ago when my console broke. I smiled at him, and this time I winked. He smiled back, and turned away so he could open the bay doors, but he couldn't hide the blush creeping to the sides of his face and the back of his neck. 

He opened up the shuttlepod doors, and we carried the containers inside. We strapped them down, and Malcolm asked me, "Do you want to go back now, or explore a little more?" 

I thought a bit and answered, "I think we have some time left before the Captain wants us back. Let's make one last trip before we head back to the great beyond." He smiled, and I held out my arm. He took it, and we walked out of the shuttlepod, pausing twice to make sure the pod and bay doors were locked properly. We strolled around the station, and I allowed Malcolm to get a flux something for the plasma cannons. We talked some more, about this, that and nothing, and somehow ended up back at Bay 94. We looked at each other, shrugged, and left for the ship. On the trip home, we didn't talk much, having talked constantly for the past two days, so while Malcolm inspected his goodies, I started organizing Liahna's library. As I placed the padds in groups based on language, then subject matter, I started humming. After a few bars, I heard Malcolm whistling to the same tune. I stopped and looked over at him. He continued for a moment, but when he realized I wasn't humming any more, he looked up at me, his lips still puckered in a whistle. 

"I didn't know anyone still knew that song!" I exclaimed. 

"What can I say," he said, and shrugged, "Great-great-great grandma Jenny might have been a little odd, but I still loved her." He had a wistful smile on his face. 

"Yeah, but the 'Macarena'?" This was too silly to be true! 

He grinned. "She grew up in the nineteen-nineties and early two-thousands," he said, "Apparently, those were some pretty interesting times. She was the only one who really had time for me, with my father in the Royal Navy and all, and Mum taking care of my sister and two cousins who came to live with us after Aunt Bea and Uncle James died on their second honeymoon..." He looked down at the things on his bed. I got up and sat next to him, and put my hand on his leg. 

"Tell me some more about Jenny," I said quietly. He put his hand on top of mine, and continued talking. 

"I was often left at her house after school, and she would read me stories and teach me songs until my mum came to pick me up. Once I asked if we could watch a holovideo, and she said that she'd never watch that -what was it? Oh yeah- she'd never watch that 'loony box' unless her life depended on it, because 'television was meant to be _watched_, not _lived_'. I remember not knowing what a television was, and not wanting to offend her, I waited until I got home to look it up. Do you know what television was?" He looked at me straight in the eye. I could see his eyes getting a little red around the edges, so I shook my head. I sort-of knew what television was, but I figured Malcolm would want to tell me anyway, no matter what I said. "Television was a lot like computers. The screen was basically two-dimensional, but the images didn't pop out like holovids do, they stayed firmly within the confines of the television set." 

"Interesting," I said. It really was, but he kept saying she read him stories, but wouldn't talk about them. This intrigued me. "You said she told you stories. What kind?" 

He blushed and looked at his hand. He had been absentmindedly stroking the sides of my fingers, which is one of my few ticklish spots, and I had been dying trying not to laugh. After looking at our hands for a moment, he sort of jumped, took his hand off mine and folded them in his lap. "She read me shaibush fooshoom stories," he mumbled. 

"What?" 

"Science fiction stories." 

"Really? How neat! Like what kind?" 

He eyed me warily, unsure of my intentions; was I baiting him or genuinely interested? "What do you mean?" 

"Like, the gory man-blows-up-space-alien ones, man-meets-all-powerful-race ones, man-meets-warrior-race ones, sappy romance-novel-in-space ones, weirdness-of-the-future ones, terrible-future ones, Eden-like-future ones, life-on-other-planets ones, meaning-of-the-universe ones..." I counted off these and several other types of science-fiction novels, and he stared at me, his mouth slightly open in amazement (perhaps..._awe_?). 

"Uhm, all of them, I guess. Once I learned how to read, I ate books like I breathed, but I still loved to hear her read to me. I take it you know science fiction pretty well?" 

I smiled. "That's what got me started on learning languages. When I was about seven, I got lost in the library. I stumbled upon a boy sitting in a corner chair, completely caught up in a book with a picture of a cat-like person and a human on the cover. I somehow maneuvered myself behind him to try to see what was so interesting about the book, but when I saw the words I gasped, and startled him. The book wasn't written in my native Japanese, but in English. He jumped up, but when he saw that it wasn't an evil villain to zap his brains, it was just a little girl, he calmed down. I asked him how could he read the book, and he said he had learned English so he could read the books that hadn't been translated yet. I then asked him what kind of book he was reading, and he said science fiction. He looked at me funny, and then led me to the children's section, and picked out some books. He told me to read them, and if I liked them, to come back to the library next week, and he would try to teach me English. I took the books home and stayed up all night reading them. Over the next three years, Wilton taught me English, and we became very good friends, considering an eight-year age gap. I was very sad when he had to leave for college." At the mention of Wilton's name, Malcolm's eyes bulged out. "What?" 

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head. His hair was slightly messed up, and when he shook his head, it fell across his forehead, making him look much younger. "It couldn't have been him." 

"It couldn't have been who?" 

"One of my professors, who's now an ambassador for the Federation on Primus Centauri, was named Wilton Ambly. I've never heard of anyone else named Wilton before." He smiled sadly and looked back to his hands. 

"That's him! Wilton Ambly! He's an ambassador? Oh, goodness! Go Wilton! How crazy that we both knew him! I'll have to look him up next time we're in range of a relay beacon. How totally neat, though!" I had a huge grin on my face, and Malcolm was just about to reply when we heard the comm signal buzz. Malcolm carefully lifted himself off the bunk and walked to the control panel. I got off his bunk and followed him. I sat down next to him in the copilot's chair. He pushed a few buttons, and we heard the Captain's voice. 

"_Enterprise_ to Shuttle Pod _Dyson_." 

"Shuttle Pod _Dyson_, Reed here, sir," I could hear the smile in Malcolm's voice. 

"Good to hear you, Malcolm. Hoshi there too?" The comm made a static noise, but it might have been someone chuckling or talking in the background. 

"Right here, Captain. We aren't late, are we?" I looked over at Malcolm, and he shook his head. 

"Nope, right on time. Have fun at the station?" 

"Yes, sir," Malcolm responded. 

"Good, I'll expect to hear all about it once you go through decontamination. The shuttle bay doors are open, come on in when you're ready!" Even over kilometers of space and through lots of wires and circuits, I could still hear the Captain's smile. 

"How's Trip doing?" I asked before he closed the channel. There was an almost-imperceptible pause before the Captain spoke. 

"Well, there's a lot of moaning coming from Sickbay, but I think he's over the worst of it. You can see him when you get back, alright Hoshi?" 

"Yes, sir. See you soon." I looked over at Malcolm, and he nodded slightly. "_Dyson_ out." We both got up silently and packed up our belongings. Malcolm landed the shuttle on _Enterprise_, and we left for decontamination. 

I helped Malcolm put our bags in the inanimate object decontaminator, lovingly called the "id". We took off our uniforms, and I know Diana will accuse me of something terrible when she comes back, but really, it wasn't anything bad. Okay, I know I said I would be completely honest in my personal log, but I just can't even describe the way he looked, just that he looked so amazing- that mental video picture of him I took of him will stay forever in my mind, in a very special place. There's only three other memories in that place, the first time I ever kissed a guy, the best concert I ever went to, and the first time I had sex. Memories of truly spectacular events that I'll never forget, but could never describe, either. 

I thankfully got through decontamination without fainting, and after reporting in to the captain and dropping my bags with Liahna's library in my quarters and leaving a message for Diana that I was back, I went to Sickbay. 

As the captain had said, Trip was laying on a bed, not moving, caught in that half-asleep doze of the ill. His mouth was slightly open, and was drooling on the pillow. And I swear on my life he was snoring. 

"Hey Trip," I said softly, not wanting to startle him. 

He snorted and turned his head. His eyes flickered open, and when he saw me, he smiled weakly. I smiled back. "How're you doing?" 

"Nn-kay, 'guess. Fun 'n eh station ef 'Alcolm?" he asked. I think. His words, normally accented by his 'Good Ol' Boy' Southern drawl were slurred by whatever sedative the Doctor had him on. 

"Yeah, we had fun. We got you some things for the engines, but you'd have to ask Malcolm what they were." I grinned, and he smiled a little. 

"Een ting f'r you? Fend some..." he frowned looking for the word. He looked like he had aged ten years since I had left. "Books?" he finished. His eyes were wide open, and the word was a question in itself, like, "Is that the word?" and "Did you get any?" 

I laughed, and he relaxed. "Yeah, I got a whole library. I'll let you go back to sleep now, so you can get better and play Spaceship Engineer. Goodnight, Trip. Sweet dreams." I took his hand and squeezed it. He squeezed back for a moment, and then relaxed his hand as he slipped back into sleep. As I slipped out of Sickbay, I paused to glance once more at Trip's now sleeping form, and turned around into fellow Ensign Kealanni Bogsmire. 

"S-s-sorry, Hoshi. G-g-guess he want-t-ted to s-s-see T-t-trip, huh?" she stuttered, poor thing. I looked down and saw Porthos on a blue leash, peering over in Trip's direction with his tail wagging. 

"That's okay, Kealanni, I was just talking to him. The Doctor's got him on a sedative, though, so it might be a little hard to understand him." 

She stared back at me with bright green eyes. "I think I'll be able t-t-to understand him, n-n-no offense," she said with a wry smile and a mischievous glint in her eyes. 

"None taken. See you around," I said, smiling, as I walked to the turbolift. 

"N-n-not if see you f-f-first!" she called after me. 

I stopped by the Mess Hall, and let Cookie make me a bowl of spaghetti and meatballs. I asked about my secret admirer, but he just smiled and pointed to his spoon, the one he had sworn not to tell on. I sighed and walked back to my quarters. 

When I got to the door to my quarters, there was a piece of the ivory paper on the ground in front of it. I picked it up and flipped it over. On it was written "Hydroponics Bay". While this intrigued me very much, I figured that whatever was in the Hydroponics Bay could wait for me to eat my dinner. 

As I ate my spaghetti, I looked through some of the PADDs I had put Liahna's library on. I was starting to pick up one language, when I suddenly realized I had eaten all my dinner, and still hadn't taken a shower yet. I looked at the chronometer and saw I had been engrossed in that PADD for the past three and a half hours! I also remembered the message I had gotten from my secret admirer. I jumped in the shower and tried not to think of Malcolm. 

I didn't feel like putting on the uniform I had worn all day, and didn't really want to wear a uniform at all. I looked in my closet and pulled out a pair of khaki pants and a light blue t-shirt. I fingered the dress that T'Pol had gotten me, the one like hers, except in indigo. I hoped that Porthos or one of the other crewmembers would have a birthday soon, I really wanted to wear it! 

I went down to the Hydroponics Bay, and saw a potted plant on a chair right inside the door. When I got closer to it, I realized it was a _bonsai_ tree, and a well-formed one at that, of about six or seven years. My father grew bonsais at home, so I was quite familiar with the art. There was a card of ivory paper in it's leaves, so I pulled it out and looked at it. It had a picture of a fish and a lillypad on the front, and on the inside was my name. 

I looked at the tree itself, trying to find some clue to who my admirer was, but found none. The tree itself was a silver maple, and very pretty. I wondered if I should take it to my quarters or leave it in the Hydroponics Bay, and decided after a moment that it could live in my quarters for a few days for Diana and I to admire, but that it would live in the Hydroponics Bay for the most part, so it could be around the other plants. 

Yes, I believe plants can talk to one another on some level of communication, and that they need other plants to talk to for them to be happy and healthy. Just like people, to some extent. People need other people, or they go insane, be they Human, Vulcan, Klingon, or whoever else is out there. It's just the way we are. 

~***~ End Personal Log. ~***~ 

~*~


	5. July 11

Turning Japanese 

By Casey Greene

~*~ 

_I'm turning Japanese   
I think I'm turning Japanese   
I really think so   
Turning Japanese   
I think I'm turning Japanese   
I really think so   
I'm turning Japanese   
I think I'm turning Japanese   
I really think so   
Turning Japanese   
I think I'm turning Japanese   
I really think so_

~*~ 

~***~ Personal log, Hoshi Sato. Thursday, July 11. ~***~ 

Oh, most heavenly happy of days! I don't believe there's much that could make this day better, and only something horrifically terrible would be able to get me down! I woke up this morning with the biggest, silliest grin for no reason whatsoever. I took a shower, and my shampoo smelled nicer than ever. I stepped onto the scale and found that I'd lost half a kilo. My hair dried in such a way that it let me put it up nicely, instead of in a plain old ponytail. I was so happy with all of this that I put on my favorite eyeshadow and lipstick. As I was walking to the bridge, Trip ran up beside me and said I looked very lovely, and asked if he could have the pleasure of escorting me to the bridge. We walked on to the bridge arm-in-arm, a fact that did not go unnoticed by Malcolm or the Captain. I worked on translating some more of Liahna's Library (yes, it had graduated to capitalization), and trying to puzzle out her translator program, as I'm sure she was trying to do with mine. 

I translated about half of one of her texts when I realized it was about a weapon, or rather, how to build a specific type of weapon. Now, ordinarily, this wouldn't interest me at all, but I had a feeling that Malcolm was feeling a little miffed. I downloaded it onto a PADD, and walked over to Malcolm's station. 

"Mr. Reed?" I asked, trying to gauge his emotions. 

"Yes, Ensign? Can I help you?" he answered, half professional, about a quarter hopeful and curious, a third flattered and a very small portion still upset from my dramatic entrance this morning. I never was any good at math, but people I could do. 

"I've found a text from the Handou Station you may be interested in. From what I've translated, it appears to be a manual for a new type of weapon." At that word, _weapon_, his head snapped up, his eyes widened, and I could see the corner of his mouth struggling to keep from smiling. 

"What kind of weapon is it, Ms. Sato, hand-held, or something we could put on the ship?" I loved this aspect of Malcolm; the what is it-OOH!-I want it-No, I want to blow things up with it-BANG!-I blew something up with it! Yeah!- mentality toward weapons and just about anything related to the Blowing Up Of Things or the Protection From Being Blown Up. 

"See, that's the problem, sir, I don't understand the technical jargon that goes with the instructions, but I think it's some sort of hand-held weapon, at least, that's what it looks like." I handed him the PADD, with one of the diagrams on the screen. It looked like our phase pistols, except a much nicer design, and easier to hold- and holster (the part of weaponry I was in favor of). 

"May I borrow this, Ensign? I'd like to take a closer look at this..." his voice trailed off as he looked through the other diagrams, and I could see his lips moving as he silently noted to himself what was logically what. I knew that if I didn't say something now, he would be lost in that PADD until someone finally removed him from his station. But this, I had predicted. 

"Of course you may, Sir." I said loudly, bringing him abruptly out of his weapon-induced trance. "But I haven't finished translating it, so you may have trouble reading it." I paused and heard someone chuckle softly in the background, though who it was, I couldn't tell. It could have even been the Captain! "Why don't we work together on this, sir, because then that way I can learn more technical terminology, which could be helpful in the future, and you will have someone to blame if it doesn't work." I smiled at him innocently as he looked at me with an expression on his face that meant something like "What do you mean, _not work_?", and then smiled and shook his head as he turned back to the PADD. I nodded and walked back to my station. I looked at the Bridge crew on duty, and saw Trip trying to contain his amusement at how I had played Malcolm, and several of the junior officers gaping in amazement at me. Even the Captain was smiling. And Malcolm had no idea. Just describing this makes me smile. 

I spent the rest of my shift trying to decipher what was either a religious text or a fairy tale, depending on your point of view. Either way one perceived it, it was heartwarming tale. I sent a copy to my computer so I could send it to Harold. Hey, he's going to be eight next month, perfect, I can send it then! I'll have Diana or maybe Alex from Engineering draw some pictures for it. 

After my shift was over, I went down to the mess hall. Cookie had made some sort of pudding, which was very good. It was somehow almost chocolatey, though it was light blue in color. I don't know how he does it! I was staring off into space, thinking about a poem I had translated. It was written by someone called Tarbolde, from the planet or system Canopius, as near as I could translate it. It was beautiful. The title in English was "Nightingale Woman", and was a love sonnet. I was so lost in my own thoughts that I didn't notice the Captain come up behind me, or sit next to me. I didn't hear him saying my name until he put his hand on my arm. 

"Oh, hello, I mean, I'm sorry I didn't hear you Captain, I was, you see, um, this-" he smiled and cut me off before I could make a complete fool of myself. 

"We're off duty, Hoshi, you can call me Jon. What happened to that, anyway? You always called me 'Jon', never Captain. What's this, is Hoshi Sato loosing all irreverence and going 'Fleet?" he asked jokingly. I grinned back. 

"Okay, Jon. Whatever you say, Jon. From now on, Jon, I'll always call you "Jon", Jon. Did you have any pudding, Jon? It's really good, Jon. So, Jon, what are you up to, Jon? Just here for a social visit, Jon, or is this a secret mission, like our still pending Operation Kitchen Raid, Jon? Huh, Jon, huh?" I said all this very quickly, and he burst out laughing. 

"Hoshi, I would go insane without you!" 

"You'll probably go insane _with_ me," I remarked with a wicked grin. He laughed. 

"You and Trip are the only ones who treat me like a normal person, not some mythical god Starfleet hired to captain one of their ships. Of course, if the admirals back at Earth heard you just now, I'd be in big trouble, having a friend and being a captain at the same time and all. Pretty serious demerits there, y'know." He tilted his head down and looked up at me, trying to be serious. This was something I loved about Jon, that he could be The Captain, and yet be Jon at the same time, and was comfortable enough in both aspects that he could switch from one to the other so easily. He also had a great sense of humor. Uh-oh, this entry sounds suspiciously like part of a "Possible Suspects in the crime of being my Secret Admirer" pros list! Well, it's not. Much. Doesn't everyone know that lists, tables and figures come at the _end_ of a book? 

"What were you thinking about, so lost in thought that you didn't even notice your Good Friend Jon come in?" he asked, putting his elbows on the table and resting his chin in his palms, looking more like a very odd tree with a blue trunk and a head where the branches were supposed to be than the Captain of the only ship in the Fleet capable of Warp 5 (Which means it can go Super-Duper Fast, instead of merely Really, Really Fast). 

"Well, I was just thinking about this text that I translated-" I started when Jon cut me off by starting to snore very loudly and drop his head off his hands. 

"Jon!" I exclaimed, laughing. "Ooh, you are _so_ immature!" 

"Okay, I'll stop," he said, but I saw that twinkle in his eye. He was up to no good at all. 

"Promise?" I asked warily. 

"Yeah, I promise," he said with almost-seriousness. 

"Okay." I paused and he nodded toward my PADD. "I was thinking about a po-" I started when I was interrupted _yet again_ by Jon pretending to snore, but this time he leaned his head on my shoulder. 

"Jon!" No response, except continued snoring. "Fine, then I won't tell you," I said with mock haughtiness and turned around, his head now resting on my back. I had no idea what the other people in the Mess Hall were thinking, and I don't think I want to. Probably "Are they _flirting_?" "They look cute together" "They look terrible together!" "He could do better" "She could do better" "Why doesn't he notice _me_?". But how do I know, I'm no telepath. 

Eventually he stopped and listened to Tarbolde's poem, and said it was one of the most beautiful things he had ever heard. He asked if I had any more poems by Tarbolde, and I said that I didn't know, but I had some stories that were rather pretty. He thought for a moment, and then suggested that I do a sort of story-sharing thing, where everyone who wants to can get a copy of any stories or poems I translated. I said that was a great idea, and said the poem by Tarbolde and the story I was going to send to Harold would be in the first issue. 

"So what's your motive?" I asked him after a moment. He had been staring me in the eyes the whole time, and while I didn't _mind_ it, I had a feeling that some crewman was going to yell something to Jon that could be quite embarrassing. 

"Motive? What do you mean?" he asked, moving his head back a few inches and wrinkled his brow. 

"For coming here, mingling with the lower echelons of the _Enterprise_?" I replied with a smile. 

"Well..." he paused for a moment, trying to phrase his next words right. "There's been scuttlebutt. About you." 

"Me, Jon? How so?" I asked, puzzled. 

"Well, Hoshi, I remember hearing something about a 'secret admirer'...Do you know anything about this?" he answered, a half formed smile on his lips. 

"Well, Jon," I started, blushing, "Someone, I don't know who, has been leaving me little presents, and while it's the sweetest and most romantic thing that's ever happened to me, I'm dying to know who's sending them! Cookie knows, but he won't tell." I saw that mischievous glint in his eye again. "Do you know who it is?" I asked. 

"No," he replied with a huge smile. 

"You do! Tell me, pleeeeese? Pretty, pretty please! I have to know! Pleeeeeeeease tell me!" I begged, grabbing his arm and looking up at him with my head on his shoulder. Our faces were about five centimeters apart. No, it doesn't go in the very special place, but if either of us had wanted to, we could have kissed right there, and I think we both knew it. Now, tell me that almost kissing one's friend and Captain is _not_ something one remembers! But no, we didn't kiss, but he touched the end of my nose with his finger. I lifted my head and looked at him with a puzzled frown. 

"Nope, I won't tell you. It's not my place, though I think a smart girl like you can figure it out soon enough," he finished with a grin. "Later, Hoshi." He got up and went over to the counter, got a bowl of pudding and left the Mess Hall. 

I sighed and looked at Tarbolde's poem again. 

_My love has wings, slender feathered things   
With grace in upswept curve and tapered tip_

I wondered if my secret admirer felt that way about me. 

I waved at Cookie as I left the Mess Hall, and walked to my quarters. Okay, fine, I admit it, I skipped. Yes, I skipped to my quarters, like I was seven years old with braided pigtails flying about. It was so fun! I passed one of our new crewmembers, a slender brown-haired girl named Brittany Sarip. When she saw me, she smiled and started skipping herself. When I finally arrived at my quarters, lo and behold, there was an ivory colored package with gold ribbon in front of the door. 

This one was about half a meter long, cylindrical, and gave slightly when I picked it up, like it was something wrapped around a pole or rod. Diana was sitting on her bed, and reading one of the texts I'd translated and recommended to her. 

"Hey, Hosh, this is great! I especially liked the part-Hey! What's _that_?" she asked, her eyes lighting up at the present I held. 

"I dunno, looks like my secret admirer left me something else. Did you think of a name for the tree yet? Nothing I come up with sounds right, and you _do_ have the gift." 

"Well, just one question, is it a boy tree or a girl tree?" she asked, still looking at the present. 

"Um, I'm not sure. We could ask Doctor Phlox," I suggested. "He might be able to tell." So what if I wanted to name my tree? It was my tree! 

"Okay. Do you want to do it now, or after you open your present?" Her tone indicated she would much rather do it later. 

"I guess I'll open my present first," I said with a wink. I sat down next to her, and took off the ribbon. She took it and set it next to her. I turned the package over and took off the paper. The first thing I saw was a piece of bright red silk. I lifted it up and unrolled it. It was a long piece of silk, and had my name pained on it, with a lovely star design. At the top and bottom, there was a piece of wood, to keep it straight, and a loop at the top to hang it with. 

"Oh, Hoshi, it's beautiful!" Diana exclaimed softly after a moment. 

"My thoughts exactly. Who could have done this, it's so magnificent!" 

"Huh. How funny," Diana remarked cryptically. 

"What? What's funny?" 

"Well, your name Hoshi means 'Star', and here you are on a starship. I just realized that. It was like you were meant to be here." We mulled that over for a moment. 

"What does your name mean?" I asked Diana. 

She grinned. "'Divine one'. In Roman mythology, Diana was the goddess of the moon." 

"Well, that's great! You belong here, too! Star and Lady Moon in one room! How does Starfleet do it so perfectly?" I looked at her, and we both burst out laughing. After a bit, we dug around furiously for something to attach my newest present to the wall with. Eventually we found one of Diana's picture hooks she wasn't using and hung it above Lowell and Burton's bowl. I gave them a pinch of food like Moiré had said and turned around. 

"What do you say we go get Tree and take it to Sickbay, see if Doctor Phlox can't see if it's a boy or a girl?" I asked. 

"Okay," she said. We walked to the Hydroponics Bay and got my tree, but when we got to the turbolift, we heard a voice. 

"Hold the door!" Diana pushed a button and the doors stopped halfway, just enough for a person to get through. I saw a shoulder, and then the rest of the person's body enter the turbolift. He turned around and smiled. 

"Hello, ladies. Where are you off to this fine evening?" 

"Sickbay. Are you Captain, Jon, or Captain Jon?" I asked with a smile. 

He laughed. "You make me sound like a pirate, Captain Long Jon Silver! Arr!" 

I giggled, but Diana was a little astounded by Jon's joviality. 

"And who's this?" he asked. 

"Well, the Human is Diana-" 

"Charmed," he cut in as he shook her hand. She smiled back, now over most of her surprise. 

"And this little one is on it's way to Sickbay to see if it's a boy or a girl." 

"Why?" he asked, puzzled. 

"Well, it has to have a name, and I'd feel terrible if it was a boy, and we gave it a girl's name, or the other way around. I hope Doctor Phlox can tell." 

He shook his head and laughed. "I wish you luck." The doors opened to our deck, and Diana and I walked out. 

"It was nice getting to know you, Diana," he called out after us. 

"'Long Jon Silver'?" Diana asked incredulously. I shrugged. "If _he's_ your secret admirer-" 

"Diana!" I shrieked, laughing and blushing. 

"Whaaaaat?!" she laughed. We walked into Sickbay and I placed the tree in one of the biobeds. 

"Well, hello," Doctor Phlox said, surprised. "And what have we here?" 

"It's a silver maple, Doctor. Someone gave it to me, and I don't know who," I replied. 

"And you'd like me to tell you who gave it to you?" he asked cautiously. 

"Do you know?" I asked as casually as I could. 

"Er," he admitted. 

"Does everyone but me know?" I asked of no one. 

"_I_ don't know," Diana said. 

"Yeah, right. You're probably in collusion with him. Doctor, is there any way you can tell if it's a male or female?" 

"Your secret admirer?" he asked. 

"Oh, no, the tree." I blushed. Cookie said it was a he, so, well, I have nothing against homosexuals, but I'm not one. What if it had been? That could be a _very_ embarrassing situation! "You see, Diana and I are trying to name the tree, but we want to make sure we give it the right name." 

He nodded. "Understandable." 

"You don't think it's silly?" Diana asked. 

"No, not at all." He brought out a medical device and while he was scanning the tree, he told us about his homeworld's philosophy. "We Denobulans believe that plants and animals have their own names, and that if you one of them a name, you have the opportunity to be friends with it. Ah, here we go! Your tree, Ms. Sato, is male." he looked up from his instrument and smiled at Diana and I. 

"Thank you, Doctor," I said. 

"What is his name, if I may ask?" 

Diana spoke. "Hoshi, Doctor, meet Justin." She reached out and shook Justin's leaves. I did the same. 

"It's nice to meet you, Justin." I said. 

"How did you come up with 'Justin', Ms. Howard?" Phlox asked. 

Diana blushed. "When I was young, I was really into fantasy books, old novels from the 20th century. One of them had a tree named Justin in it. Justin had originally been a human, but he angered a magician and the magician had turned him into a tree. So it seemed only logical..." she smiled. 

"Did the Justin have a happy life, as a tree?" the Doctor asked. I thought that a very odd question, but then again, I wasn't Denobulan. 

"Yeah, actually," Diana replied. "He led a happier life as a tree than he had as a human." We all smiled and I swear that Justin rustled his leaves. 

"Well, it's time to get Justin back to the Hydroponics Bay so he can talk to the other plants," I said. "You can visit him anytime you want to, Doctor. I'm sure he'd be glad to see you." 

"I'll make it a point on my next tour of the ship to stop by," he assured Justin and I. 

As Diana, Justin and I walked out of Sickbay, Diana remarked, "I think you like him better than you do me!" 

I replied, "And what if I do?" and we all laughed. 

All in all, I think today was a success. I wish every day was like today. If only I knew who my secret admirer was! 

~***~ End Personal Log. ~***~ 

~*~ 


	6. August 24

Turning Japanese 

~*~ __

No sex, no drugs, no wine, no women   
No fun, no sin, no you, no wonder it's dark   
Everyone around me is a total stranger   
Everyone avoids me like a psyched lone ranger   
Everyone... 

~*~ 

~***~ Personal Log, Hoshi Sato. Saturday, August 24. ~***~ 

These past few days have been very exciting. So much has happened, I don't know how I'll ever be able to describe it all. I suppose the best thing to to would to be to start at the beginning. Remember how I told you about Jon's suggestion that I share the stories in Liahna's library with the rest of the ship? Well, the first issue with Tarbolde's sonnet and the fairy tale was a smash hit, and I've been translating like mad to keep up with it. At first, I had lots of things translated, so I put out an issue every day, but when I ran out, it just became too stressful, so now the Translated Times is a weekly event. Even so, every day someone comes up to me to say what a great job I'm doing. It's a little weird though, because all I did was translate the texts, I didn't actually write them. But then again, if I didn't translate them, then I suppose no one would be able to read them in the first place. So maybe I am as important as everyone thinks. But they're probably just being nice. Oh well, I'm happy. 

Ooh, and something else about the Translated Times: Jon somehow got a message to Starfleet past me, telling some of his high-ranking friends about what I did, and they are really excited. Well, as excited as a bunch of stuffy Admirals can get. Jon said he wasn't supposed to tell, but there's going to be a big surprise for me when we get back to Earth. I'm not exactly sure how I feel about all of this, it's sort of like how I feel about people congratulating me on doing the translations. It's my job, aren't I supposed to do it well? It would be like telling Jon what a good job he's doing keeping us from being killed, or thanking Travis for not running us into a sun. I don't know. I don't know what I'm feeling or thinking or anything anymore. Maybe I've been working too hard. After I'm finished with this, I'll go talk to Doctor Phlox. I hope it's nothing serious. 

But, by far, the most important thing that's happened since my last entry has been Krailen. 

About a week ago when I came on duty, Jon said that I should report to Sickbay. 

"Why?" I asked. 

"I think there's someone who'd like to talk to you," he had replied cryptically. "Ensign Marneg will take your place for the time being." He nodded toward a tall, thin and very nervous-looking black man. I tried to smile reassuringly at him. 

"Are you familiar with the controls?" I asked him. He smiled lopsidedly and nodded. "Alright, I'll be in Sickbay if you need anything, I guess." I looked at Jon. 

"I'll come down in a few hours to see how you're doing," he said. I raised my eyebrows and walked toward the turbolift. 

I entered Sickbay cautiously, and saw Doctor Phlox and T'Pol standing by one of the bed. I walked over, and saw that there was someone laying, sleeping on the bed. It was humanoid, like us, but its skin was slightly purpler than ours. Even with the long, dark brown hair, sprinkled with pale blue hairs of age, it could have passed for human. But the first thing I noticed about it was its face. It was obviously a very old being, and the deep creases in its face told the story of a very long life, while the long white scar on its cheek spoke of at least one battle. But it looked so calm, so completely peaceful, I was hesitant to speak above a whisper, lest I wake it. 

"What is it, Doctor?" I asked quietly, but it was T'Pol who answered. 

"That is what we are trying to ascertain." She spoke in a normal voice, which startled both the doctor and I. "Your voice will not rouse it, it is completely unconscious," she said, as if reading my thoughts. 

"Where did it come from?" I asked. "Please don't tell me it just appeared in Sickbay this morning," I added, and the doctor smiled. 

"No, earlier this morning we picked him up-it's a male-in a very old spacecraft that was floating adrift in space. The engineers are taking it apart in one of the cargo bays. He was in some sort of stasis chamber, but he arrived as soon as we got him off the ship, several hours ago, but he still hasn't woken up yet. I'm not even sure he will wake up." Doctor Phlox shook his head sadly. I glanced at T'Pol, but she just blinked. 

"So why was I called here? I'm a translator, not a doctor," I asked. 

"Because Captain Archer believes he will wake up, and will be able to tell you about where he comes from and such," T'Pol answered, clearly skeptical of the captain's optimism. Just then, his eyes fluttered open. He looked at each of us in turn, T'Pol, Doctor Phlox, and then paused at me. He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a series of soft notes, like a birdsong. 

I turned to T'Pol, but she spoke before I could. 

"Can you understand him?" she asked. I was completely taken aback. Did she think I knew every language in the galaxy? Surely not. Yes, I can read or at least translate most of the languages we've encountered, but that doesn't mean I can speak them all fluently, or to any degree for some of them! A lot of Liahna's library was just written, no sound files of a reading, so if we ever met one of those races out in space, we might not even recognize them, let alone understand them. Hmm, we could be pen-pals maybe. 

"No, I can't. It's like nothing I've heard before." I paused. "Except maybe a bird's song, but he doesn't look avian." She raised her eyebrow at my second comment, and I wondered if I had just made a fool of myself. 

"Fascinating. I was thinking the same thing also." 

He sang again. This time, his song was a little louder and ended with a definitely higher pitched note. His calm face twisted into an expression of worry, and I was almost sure I understood him. It felt like a sneaking suspicion, a mental itch in the corner of my mind. He wanted to know where he was. 

"I think," I said softly, and both the doctor and T'Pol looked at me questioningly. "I think he's asking where he is." 

"Why do you think that, Ensign?" T'Pol asked. Not snidely, as I had heard her respond to Jon from time to time, but with genuine curiosity. But there was also a hint of another emotion, one I couldn't place. I hesitate to call it fear, perhaps concern would be better suited. Whatever it was, I was sure I heard it, and honored that she trusted me not to judge her for feeling it. 

"It's just a feeling that I had, I can't really describe it. It wasn't that he spoke to me, per se, but I felt what he was thinking. I'm sorry." Aren't those feelings the worst? The ones you can't describe in less than twelve repeatings of the same few sentences? I always feel so helpless. 

"Don't be," Doctor Phlox said. "This could be very important. He could be telepathic, which means that perhaps trying to communicate with him verbally won't be as successful as trying to communicate with him on a mental level." I was listening, but I wasn't looking at him, I was looking at the alien. I hadn't noticed his eyes before, I had been looking through them without seeing, listening for the feelings in my head. His eyes were so different from ours, almost like a negative image. The sclera of his eye, normally white in humans, Vulcans, and most other humanoids we've encountered, was dark brown, almost black. His irises were green and yellow, but they were curved vertically around the pupil instead of radially. At least the pupil was round, but I noticed that it was larger than a human's would have been in the same light. Perhaps he was from a planet that had a brighter sun. Or maybe he was just scared. 

I reached over and took his hand. Perhaps he "asked" me to, or maybe it was just an instinctive response. He was looking at me with such alien eyes, and when I touched his hand, I felt this overwhelming fear and an impression of knowing something, but not remembering it. Not remembering anything. 

"Doctor! He doesn't know anything!" I exclaimed. T'Pol and Doctor Phlox had been in discussion of the various types of telepathy and telempathy they had found in other species, and my statement startled them out of it. 

"What do you mean?" he asked. "Are you saying he's stupid?" 

"No, no, nothing like that. But he doesn't know who he is, or where or what he's doing, where he's from, nothing." 

"Ah! You're saying he has amnesia!" the doctor said, far too gleefully in my opinion for such a terrible development. 

"That is intriguing. The craft we found him in was damaged, perhaps there was a collision that knocked him unconscious and in the process, blocked his memory somehow, or even erased it altogether." You've gotta love T'Pol. She can make any situation seem more hopeless than you had ever considered. 

"No! No, he knows what- He knows but he can't remember. He knows that there's something missing, that he's been somewhere and lived a life, he didn't just appear out of nowhere like this and just awake here. He knows that he had a life and there were others like him and he lived- he lived- But he doesn't know where he lived. Or what he did. Or anything." I felt his thoughts in my mind and I allowed my mouth to speak them, but every time they tried to remember anything specific, they blanked out and I was at a loss for words. I felt so sad and frustrated that I couldn't help them remember. 

Then, before T'Pol could speak, he stared singing. Maybe he was speaking, but it sounded like a song to me. His thoughts in my mind reassured me that in the end, everything would work out alright, that if we just relaxed, understanding would come. I thought about this for a moment and listened to what he was singing. I closed my eyes and let the sounds flow through me. I wondered why his thoughts sounded so familiar. 

"Teacher!" I shouted as my eyes flew open. "My teacher, when I was learning how to translate a language I had just learned! He said if we got stuck on a passage, to relax and the words would come! He must be a translator! Or a teacher, or a scholar, or maybe even a librarian, like Liahna!" My exclamation had startled him out of his song, and the others out of their reveries. 

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "Then perhaps you should relax. Perhaps then the 'words will come' and we will be able to communicate with him on a level other than his thoughts in your mind," she said as scathingly as Vulcans were allowed and I blushed. 

In the corner of my mind, I felt someone chuckling. I looked at him, and saw a twinkle in his eyes that hadn't been there a moment ago. "Well, I never!" I gasped. 

"What does he say, Ensign?" Doctor Phlox asked. 

"He's laughing at me!" I said, half exasperated, half laughing myself. Doctor Phlox smiled. 

"Well, it appears that your senses of humor reside at the same elementary level," commented T'Pol. 

"Do lighten up, T'Pol. After all, you started it," came a voice from behind us. We all turned around and saw Jon standing in front of the doorway. 

"Captain, need I remind you that Vulcans do not 'lighten up'? And if I might ask, who is in command of the ship? I do not believe your shift is over yet." She was practically accusing him of dereliction of duty! The Captain! 

Jon just laughed. "Ah yes, the ever fallible human mind! And don't worry, T'Pol, relax! The ship's in good hands. I left Trip in charge." She stiffened, and Jon laughed. "Lighten up!" 

"Captain..." she said warningly, as if one more word from him would cause her to loose all control over herself and sigh in exasperation or roll her eyes or something. 

"Just kidding, T'Pol." He grinned, and winked at her. Winked at her? He winked at her! Did Jon... I felt him laughing in my mind again. I giggled too. "Problem, Hoshi?" he asked, looking straight at me, and I wondered if he could see into my mind and see the alien presence in there. I hoped he couldn't. What if he found out that I thought maybe he was my secret admirer? What if he found out I tried to relive that moment in the Mess Hall when he almost kissed me? What would his reaction be? Surprise? Disgust? Flattered? Joy? Guilt? For half a moment I wished I could see his reaction. 

Then I felt the alien chiding me in my mind. Even though we'd only been in contact a short time, it appeared that it went both ways and he'd wasted no time reading my surface thoughts. I suppose we had similar rituals and culture, as I didn't sense fear from him anymore. He must have seen that we meant him no harm, and taking his own words, if he relaxed, understanding would come. 

"Oh, no, Jon. Just... something my new friend said." I smiled. He looked at me quizzically. 

"Ensign Sato is in mental contact with the alien we picked up this morning," Doctor Phlox explained. 

"Oh. Wait, I thought T'Pol was the telepathic one." Jon looked at us in confusion. 

"Apparently," Doctor Phlox started, "Hoshi is the one he prefers to talk to." T'Pol raised an eyebrow, but before she could comment, we heard another voice from behind us. 

"Not that I blame him. I'd rather talk t'Hoshi than T'Pol any day," came Trip's amused drawl. "No offense, Sub-Commander," he amended with an innocent grin. 

"I am incapable of taking offense, Commander Tucker," stated T'Pol stiffly. I don't care what she said, she was still pretty ticked at him for what he did to her. I had to hand it to her, she was tough. I probably would have tossed him out an airlock by now. "Who-" 

"-'d I leave in charge of the ship? Malcolm. Hey, don't look at me like that, there's not much he can blow up out here, except us, and he's a bit more responsible than you give him credit for. What, can't I come down here do see how you're doing with the fellow that's causing all the ruckus in Cargo Bay 2? Aww, come on T'Pol! Fine, I'll go back, but can't I stay just a little longer? Alright, thanks." While the rest of us looked on in amazement, Trip had a complete discussion with T'Pol without her ever saying a word, but both of them seemed satisfied with the conversation that had just transpired. Well, as satisfied as T'Pol would ever deign to let us see her, although Trip's happiness was quite evident in the smile he wore. 

Even with what had happened between them, they still had incredible rapport. Why'd he ever do a stupid thing like what he did? He knew she was vulnerable, and that she had no experience with human courtship rituals, I just can't understand what came over him, what made him say those things. It makes no sense to me. Did I say that I knew people? I don't. I don't know what I know. Sometimes, they're as predictable as a pendulum clock, but every now and then a bug gets in the gears and they go and do something crazy. No wonder the Vulcans are so nervous around us. They never know what we're going to do next. 

Though I can't help but wonder why Trip acts like nothing's wrong between them. T'Pol hasn't really talked to me since after she spent the night in my quarters, so I don't know if they've made up or something. I know, Doctor Phlox said it was none of my business, but I'm still worried about her. Maybe I'll talk to her tomorrow, or something. I don't know, I just have this feeling in the back of my spine, a creeping little tingle, and I feel like something's not right. Hmm. But back to the log. 

"So what does he say?" Trip asked. 

"He doesn't know his name, or where he came from, but I guess what little communication we have has made him feel better, as he's not as afraid as he was before. He knows that he isn't -or wasn't- alone, there were others like him, but he has no memory of anything. I think he might be a teacher, or scholar of some sort." It felt odd saying everything that I had learned of him in just a few sentences. Like maybe there was more, but it couldn't be said in words, it had to be felt. 

"Why do you think that?" Jon asked. 

I smiled. "He sounded like my languages teacher, the way he said to wait and eventually I'd be able to understand what he was saying." 

"What did you mean when he said there are or were others like him? Did he say that they might not be there anymore?" Trip frowned. 

"I didn't feel that exactly, but since you only found him in the craft -what is it, a shuttle, or some sort of deep space craft that he would have been put into some sort of stasis?- Anyway. Since you only found him, and no one's contacted us about a missing member of their species, I guess we have to include the possibility that he was sent out in some sort of escape pod because the rest of his people were killed or under attack or something, and might not be around for him to return to." I didn't realize that I thought that until I opened my mouth and the words came out. Some thoughts are funny like that, you don't know you had them until you say them. 

The room fell silent, except for the sound of the alien's breathing. He warbled a little tune, and we all looked at him. In my mind, I felt him reassuring me that all would fall into place in time. I smiled gently at him, and thanked him in my mind. I realized that the rest of them were staring at me. "He says not to worry, that everything will work out." Jon looked at T'Pol, who raised her eyebrow, and then at Trip, who met his eyes and then looked at his shoes. I wondered what had just passed between them, the ruling triumvirate of the ship. Would I ever have that kind of understanding with anyone? 

Jon asked me how long I'd been in Sickbay, and I was surprised when T'Pol said over two hours. Jon suggested that we take a break for lunch, but Trip and T'Pol deferred, both claiming they had to get back to the bridge. I told the alien that I was going away for a little while, but I would be back, and not to worry. He resonated an assurance that he would be fine, and behave peacefully for the doctor. I wondered how he had figured out who the doctor was, and was trying to ask him when he interrupted and told me to go, take a break. 

Jon and I walked to the mess hall, and we inspected Cookie's latest offerings. Jon picked a pasta salad, and I got some grilled cheese sandwiches and a smile from Cookie. We ate in the Captain's Mess Room, but it was a lot less formal than during the dinners Jon has with all the crew members. I told him of my momentary suspicion when T'Pol and Trip both left Sickbay for the bridge, that they were going to race each other, and whoever got there first got to be in command, and he started laughing. He said he had thought the same thing, and doubted that Trip would come to dinner without some remark he had made to T'Pol along the same lines. It made me feel warm and happy that we would be thinking the same thing, even if it was at T'Pol's expense. 

Halfway through his pasta salad, Jon remarked, "That was a very mature statement you made back there. You've changed a lot from the person I dragged aboard kicking and screaming." 

"What can I say," I answered jokingly, "space and the antics of its denizens changes a girl. What, don't like the cynical monster you've created?" I raised my eyebrow, hopefully reminiscent of T'Pol -I've been practicing for weeks- and he smiled. 

"You're not cynical, and certainly not a monster, Hoshi. And I'm not saying you were a little girl or anything like that. But the possibility that he might be the only remaining member of his species never even crossed my mind, and after you said it, for a moment there, I wondered if T'Pol hadn't switched bodies. She's usually the one to take the more negative, what she calls 'logical' side of things. I don't know how the universe survived, with the Vulcans looking at it like it's some blemish on a mirror of logic." He looked at me closely. "Hoshi, I'm so glad that I finally got you to come with us. On _Enterprise_, I mean. I can't talk like this with Trip, because he acquired this bad habit of turning everything I say into an argument; I think he got it from T'Pol, and I certainly can't talk like this with T'Pol." 

"What about Malcolm? Or one of the other officers?" I asked. 

He shook his head. "Malcolm and the others would be very uncomfortable with the fact that their Captain is a human being and likes to have a real conversation once in a while without having to calculate every word and make sure there are no hidden meanings to everything I say. I know I've said this before," he smiled," but I'll say it again: I would go crazy without you." I smiled demurely. 

"Thank you, Jon." I didn't know what else to say. 

He leaned forward slightly. "There's something I have to tell you, Hoshi. I don't quite know how to put this, but-" 

"Sickbay to Archer," came the doctor's voice over the intercom. Jon got up and pressed a button on the console by the door. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. 

"Archer here," he said. He wasn't really annoyed, he sounded like he was upset that Phlox had interrupted, but somewhat relieved that he hadn't had to say what he was going to. I wonder what it was... 

"Captain, the alien has gone into some sort of coma. I suggest you and Ensign Sato come down here immediately. Sub-Commander T'Pol is already here." 

Jon looked at me and said, "We'll be right down, Doctor," when he saw me folding my napkin and putting it on the table. "Archer out." 

There was a loud silence. "Well, I suppose we ought to be going," I said slowly. 

"Yes, I think so," he answered, and then there was silence again. What had he wanted but not wanted to say? 

We stood there for a moment longer, and then I said, "I wonder how T'Pol felt leaving Trip in command," and Jon smiled. 

"I don't know. We'd better get down there before she throws a hissy fit." I grinned at the mental image, and with that, we left. 

When we got to Sickbay, I could see that he was not in good condition. His skin was paler than usual, and he was breathing slower than before. I touched his hand softly, but heard no warm greeting. While Doctor Phlox, T'Pol and Jon discussed his specifics, I sat next to him, his wrinkled hand in mine, and tried to gently rouse him. Jon put his hand on my shoulder before he left, and smiled reassuringly. I returned his smile, and decided to try a different tactic with the alien. Instead of asking him to wake up, I told him all about the ship. I told him about our mission, and about the adventures we had. I told him about my life, before and after coming aboard, and how I sometimes wished I had never come aboard, and were still teaching. I confided in him my worries and doubts, but felt not even the tiniest flutter in my mind. T'Pol had come and gone several times, but she offered no assistance. 

On the edge of my consciousness, I heard a voice call my name. Then I felt T'Pol standing next to me. "Hoshi," she said again, a little louder. I turned my head and looked at her. "You have been here for several hours past the extent of your duty shift. I suggest that you retire for the night, and come back in he morning. Perhaps you will think of something we can use to awaken the alien." I blinked my eyes and sighed. I said goodnight to the unresponsive alien, and nodded at T'Pol as I left for my quarters. I trudged into my room, and fell asleep the moment my head touched the pillow, not even bothering to get undressed. 

When I awoke, it was only 0216. I tried to go back to sleep, but I wasn't tired anymore. Diana was asleep in her bunk, and I didn't want to wake her, so I quietly changed into a clean uniform, and took one of Liahna's texts with me as I left the room. I wandered around the ship, and found myself in the Hydroponics Bay. I said hello to Justin and the other plants, and sat down on the ground, in a seemingly comfortable corner. But after half an hour of trying to sit still and translate I finally gave up. I ruffled Justin's leaves as I left, and wandered out into the corridors again. 

I ended up in the Mess Hall. I sat down at my usual table, and looked around, hoping to see if perhaps my secret admirer had somehow known I was up and was spying on me. But there were only three people present not counting myself; a couple more interested in each other than the stars flying by in the window, and a man mixing something in a bowl where Cookie usually stood, but it wasn't Cookie. I walked over, because I couldn't concentrate on what I was trying to read. 

"Hi," I said. "What are you making?" 

The man looked up, his piercing blue eyes meeting mine. He had a kind face, and unruly curly brown hair that framed his face. "Oh," he stammered, blushing. "I was trying to make one of Cookie's cakes. But I've seen how he makes it, and my batter doesn't look anything like his does. I'm a failure, I'll never do anything right!" He set the bowl down with a clatter, and I caught it before it fell to the ground. I looked at the mixture, and at the recipe. I dipped my finger in the brownish batter and stuck it in my mouth. I frowned and looked at the man. He stared back at me with half-formed tears in his eyes, and I could see he was a moment away from crying. 

"Hey there, tell you what. You go sit down over there for a bit, and I'll see what I can do with this, okay?" he sniffed and nodded, and sat down at the table I had indicated. I threw the batter in the sink, and washed out the bowl. Poor guy had put in salt instead of sugar, and had completely forgotten the flour. "So what's your name, I don't think I've seen you before," I asked nonchalantly, trying to draw him out of his misery. 

"Richard. Richard Alain. You're Hoshi, right? The translator?" 

I smiled, remembering my teacher's words; take pride in your work, it is what you will be remembered for. "Yes, among other things." 

He sniffed. "I read what you wrote, the stories from Liahna. They're really good." I saw the couple walk out of the Mess Hall, still mesmerized by each other's eyes. I pulled the ingredients from Cookie's cupboards. 

"Thanks. I didn't write them, though. I just translated them." Cookie's recipe looked an awful lot like my mother's, but perhaps that was because cakes follow a general pattern of ingredients, without too much variation. 

"Even so," he said, his voice gaining confidence, "It must be very exciting." 

I dropped a spoon on the floor and bent down to pick it up. "Not as much as you'd think," I said as I washed the spoon off in the sink, remembering another thing my teacher had said, not to scare off would-be translators with the truth about our not-so-glamorous profession. 

"Well, it's most likely a lot better than my job. I'm General Maintenance for decks five through eight. A _janitor_. Cookie pulled a bunch of strings to get me here in the first place. My mother forced him to. He's my father." I looked over at him and did a little math in my head. 

"But, wait, that can't be right. Cookie's not that old, how can he-" 

"Sorry, my _step_-father." As I made the cake, Richard told me all about his family. Everything. It seemed that his mother was something of a floozy (his word, not mine), and he had many siblings, both younger and older, but didn't know who his real father was. Apparently, his mother was going out with a set of triplets about the time he was conceived, and there was no way of telling which one of them got her pregnant. His story went on in the same vein, more sordid tales of his family history. Cookie and Richard's mother had ostensibly married each other for the other's money, but even though neither turned out to have much, they found that they actually liked each other, and stayed married anyway. Isn't that sweet? Don't you just love a modern-day storybook romance? I do. 

When Cookie was offered a position on _Enterprise_, Richard's mother had convinced Cookie to take him along, let him see some of the galaxy before he decided on what he wanted to do in the world. By the time Richard had finished talking, I had successfully mixed and baked the cake, made frosting, and was waiting for it to cool down. Poor guy, probably didn't have many friends, and no one to listen to him. 

"Well, you've been aboard _Enterprise_ for a few months. Do you have any idea what you'd like to do?" That he was supposed to find out what he wanted to do was the point of his story, I assumed, but like Malcolm and his secret affection for science fiction, Richard seemed inclined to beat around the bush, so he wouldn't have to say what he really wanted to. Why do we always feel like we have to hide the things that affect us the deepest? Are we afraid of being laughed at? Or that the people we tell won't understand? As I think about it, I'm beginning to wonder that perhaps those aren't bad reasons for keeping secrets. And if that's why my secret admirer won't reveal himself. Maybe he's afraid I'll laugh at him. I don't think there's anyone on this ship I would laugh at, and if that turns out to be the reason he's afraid to tell me who he is, I think I would be very hurt. 

He sat up straighter. "I want to be a musician," he said in a firm voice, as though he was daring me to dissuade him. 

"Really?" I asked, trying to project an image of enthusiasm so not to offend him. "What kind of instrument do you play?" 

He smiled and leaned in closer. "Well, I can sing, and play the Altarian khator, the Isthianus sitar, and the Beltaki harp. I can play a few others, but those three are the ones I'm best at. I like string instruments best, though I never learned how to play the violin, ironically." He smiled, proud of his accomplishments, and happy that I hadn't scoffed at his love for music. 

"Beltaki harp? You mean, from Beltak?" I asked incredulously. 

"Yes, have you heard of it?" 

"Well, not the harp itself, but I did have a rather interesting encounter with a Beltak once... Have you ever heard of a p'latrujj, by any chance?" I remembered the creature that had tried to steal my bag on the Handou Station. 

"Yes! I have! It's an animal that's present in many of the old ballads, one of the Beltaki gods often liked to come to Beltak in that form. Why do you ask?" Richard was obviously happy to have someone to talk with, not just to, and someone who knew something about what was certainly a secret hobby of his. His excitement was contagious. 

"A vegetable seller I met once had a p'latrujj, and it tried to take my bag. How funny that you should know so much about Beltak!" 

"Yes, Beltaks often keep p'latrujjn for luck, and a sort of charm to ward off evil, sort of like a live rabbit's foot. And they're also good in times of need, when money is tight and food is scarce," he added darkly. "I've been told to try them with baked clams, but haven't had the chance," he remarked, and I laughed. 

"So tell me more about your music. Do you just play, or do you compose as well? Ooh, speaking of food, let me go frost that cake. Keep talking, I'm listening," I said as I got up and walked to the counter. The cake was cool, and I got out a knife and began to spread the frosting. 

"I've recently begun composing, but so far, I'm not very good. Nothing like the genius of Mozart or T'Relth. Not yet, anyway," he said happily. 

"T'Relth? It sounds Klingon," I remarked. 

"Indeed! T'Relth was only the greatest Vulcan composer who's had yet to grace this universe with her music!" he said loudly, as though he expected everyone to know who T'Relth was. 

"Hey, just kidding! T'Relth helped me get through my astronomy finals in college. I memorized stars to her lyrics, and every time I hear one of her songs, the only words I remember are names, magnitudes and coordinates." Richard laughed. "Can you play Vulcan music on instruments that don't have the same musical scale? Like, what if you had a song with a ten-note scale, but only a heptatonic instrument? Could you still play it?" 

He thought for a moment and grimaced. "If I really wanted to, and didn't mind if it sounded completely different from the original song. Now if I had a heptatonic song on a decatonic instrument, then I could just not play on three of the strings. But even then it'd sound odd, either higher or lower than the original. Why do you ask?" 

"Oh, no reason, just a thought that popped into my mind," I answered. 

"Hmm," he said, "Speaking of thoughts that pop into one's head, I have an interesting experience to relate. Good heavens, that cake looks divine! Do you think I could have a slice?" He bit his lip. 

"Weren't you making this for Cookie?" I asked him. 

"Not exactly. I was making it to _show_ him, but that was as far as the plan had gotten. And anyway, _you_ made it, so it's your cake." 

"Well, if it's my cake, then we shall eat it." I said firmly, and he smiled. I looked around the kitchen until I found another knife, and cut the cake into several pieces. I got out two plates and a spatula, and carried a slice for each of us to the table. 

"No forks?" he asked with a smile. 

"Why, no, of course not! This is Hoshi's Famous Ooey-Gooey Finger Cake!" I said as I walked back for forks. "So what was that interesting experience you were about to relate?" I took a bite of the cake. It was fantastic! I felt so proud of myself. I don't think I've ever made a cake and then had it for breakfast before, but now I have! 

"You sure have a way with words, Hoshi. And baking as well, it seems," he said. "My uncle Bova was in a coma after some sort of boating accident, so I went to go visit him. He hadn't responded to any of the doctors' efforts to awaken him, but he always loved to hear me play my music. I played for about an hour, when I looked over at him, and saw him mouthing the words along with the music. Some doctors and nurses came in, I suppose because they saw some brain activity, and tried to make me get out. Then one of the nurses pointed out that I had woken him up, but not all the way, so maybe if I played more, he would awaken completely. I got an idea, and played one of the songs he absolutely hated. His eyes shot open and he looked right at me and said, "I told you never to play that!" Then he blinked and looked around him. The doctors stood in shock for a moment, but were all over him an instant later. So, that's my story. What did you think?" He asked as he finished his cake. 

I thought for a moment, and then exclaimed, "Oh my goodness! That's it! You're a genius! Oh my goodness, um, I have to go, but I'll be back okay, but I don't know when. Thank you so much!" I jumped up and ran out of the Mess Hall. 

I bumped into Cookie in the hallway, and exclaimed as I ran by, "Your step-son's a genius!" He looked at me quizzically and I heard him mutter something, but I was already too far ahead to hear it. 

I ran to the turbolift, and to T'Pol's quarters. I pushed a button, and after a moment heard her voice. 

"Who is it?" 

"Ensign Sato, Sir." 

"Is there a problem?" she asked. I hoped I hadn't woken her. 

"No Sir. I have an idea." 

Her door opened half a moment later, and she stood there, fully clothed in uniform, not a hair out of place and completely alert. "Was there a problem with the intercom?" 

I blushed. "Sorry, Sir. I guess I was so excited, I forgot. Do you have a harp?" I asked. 

She raised an eyebrow. "Is this a personal inquiry?" 

"No Sir, it's relevant to the situation." I had figured the only way to win an argument, or even a conversation with her was to fight logic and evasion was with logic and evasion. I've become quite good at it, over these past few months. 

She raised her eyebrow higher. I didn't know it had two levels! I'll have to work on that. "Yes, I do. Should I bring it to Sickbay, which is where I assume we are headed?" 

"If you don't mind, Sir." I said. 

"Very well." She went back into her quarters and returned a few minutes later with a beautiful gleaming harp. The only one I'd ever seen before was a drawing in one of my textbooks, and it was nowhere near as delicate or graceful as T'Pol's. "It was my mother's," she said quietly as we walked to the turbolift. "It's been passed down my family line for several hundred generations," she offered as way of explaining why she had something so illogically beautiful as the harp. "What was the idea you had that was so important you, the Communications Officer, forgot about the ship-wide intercom system?" she asked. 

I smiled in my mind at her words, and told her how Richard had woken his uncle from a coma with his music. I reminded her that the alien in Sickbay seemed to speak in song, so perhaps music would revive him as well. She considered this as we rode the turbolift to Sickbay and walked down the corridor. When we came to the door, she stopped. 

"I think perhaps that could work. It should not hurt to try. But why did you ask me here, and not Mr. Alain?" 

I thought for a moment. "Well, for one, Sir, you're the one in charge, and you were the one who asked me to tell you if I had an idea. And I guess I felt that someone who is naturally objective would be better at interpreting and deciphering his language -if this works- than someone who would easily become emotionally involved, like Richard, or myself." 

She nodded. "Logical," she remarked, and we went in. 

"Ah," Phlox said when he saw us come through the doors. "Going to try a different tactic this time? Although I don't see how hitting one's patient with a blunt object would cure a case of amnesia." 

I laughed out loud. "Oh, Doctor! You're so medieval in the morning! We aren't going to hit him, we're going to serenade him and hope he will want to sing along." I guess I've found ways to deal with each of the people on board, a manner of speaking and acting that will result in them naturally agreeing with whatever I say. Logic with T'Pol, amused teacher with Phlox, caring and involved confidant with Richard, flirtatious but independent with Malcolm, giggly teenager with Diana, and trusted friend-slash-daughter with Jon. Is that what's considered manipulative? I'm not even conscious that I do it, it's just how I keep relations between myself and others running smoothly. I wonder if that's why I'm so interested in communications. 

"Very well. You may minister your patient, un-Doctor Sato." 

"Thank you," I said as I sat down on the alien's bed and motioned for T'Pol to sit on the one next to it. 

"What do you wish to hear?" she asked. I thought for a moment. 

"Do you know of T'Relth? She is of your planet, if I am not mistaken." 

"Yes. I was not aware you studied Vulcan music," she replied. I could have said a thousand things, about how I used her music to my own devices, or claimed to be more well-versed than I really was, and the like. But why admit something you know the other person will become upset about? 

"Yes." 

"Is there anything in particular you desire?" I noticed she was strategically avoiding the word "play"; I expected no less from her ingrained distaste for all things illogical. 

"Nothing comes to mind immediately. Whatever you think is most appropriate in this situation." Actually, one song came to mind, but while I called it "Sector 053 Sonata", its name in Vulcan had slipped my mind, and I was pretty sure that humming would be viewed as "most illogical." 

"Very well." She started to play a song I recognized as "Nebula and Anomaly Fugue", but I seemed to recall had something to do with the Vulcan trickster, T'Kay. I reached over and put my hand around one of the aliens, but again, felt no stirrings in my mind. 

When she got to the second verse, I felt the alien waking up. I glanced over at T'Pol and Doctor Phlox, and nodded, indicating he had responded. Doctor Phlox typed something into his computer, and after a moment, the alien's brain activity came up on a nearby monitor. The doctor brought up records of earlier in the night, and even I could see that he was much improved. Suddenly, the squiggly lines indicating the alien's brain activity jumped rapidly, and a few moments later he started to sing. 

He sang for hours, in a far more structured and rhythmic way than before, but still more beautiful than any song I've ever heard. In my mind, I could understand every word of it. His name was Krailen, and he came from a lovely world called Shee'une. His world was lush and tropical, but near the oceans it became more temperate. His father was a wealthy merchant, who brought his family many treasures from about Shee'une, and exposed his children to the many wonders of their world. Krailen's mother was very beautiful and kind, but died after a long illness when Krailen was a young man. His mother's death upset him very much, and he ran away from home. He almost committed suicide out of his sorrow, but was rescued by an old man. The man was the town's storyteller, and took Krailen as his apprentice, both to keep him from suicide and because the boy who was to be his apprentice had been killed in an accident. Krailen stayed with the bard for many years, and became one himself. 

When the old bard passed on, Krailen took over the job, and was quite happy. He met a lovely girl named Uedana, and they married and had several children. His youngest son became a storyteller like him, and when all his children were grown, Krailen and Uedana took an anniversary trip around Shee'une. Their ship was taken over by a group of terrorists, and many people, including Uedana, were killed before the authorities arrived. Krailen continued the voyage alone, but when he finally got home, he decided to take another voyage. He said goodbye to his children and the town, and joined a deep space trading mission to parts unknown. 

Krailen had just entered the beginnings of middle age when he left Shee'une, and already he had experienced so much. For many years he traveled with the crew of the _Takey Skei_, and at each world they stopped at, he shared his songs, making each business venture a little more profitable and enjoyable. But as with the other times of happiness in his life, this one was destined as well to end with sorrow. The _Takey Skei_ was attacked by a band of pirates, and although the crew fought bravely and valiantly, the only ones who survived the encounter were the ones who abandoned the ship in the escape pods. Krailen had intended to fight the pirates to the death, but two of the crew members stopped him and put him in a pod, and sent it off. The preprogrammed flight plan tried to get Krailen back to Shee'une, but the pod was damaged when it ran through an asteroid field. He drifted about in space for a while, and then he woke up here. 

After he finished the story of his life, he slipped out of the trance that T'Pol had created with her music, and turned to me. He told me that he was finished, and asked that I not forget him. He wished me and the rest of the crew all the luck in the universe, and asked me to let go of his hand. I removed my hand slowly, and watched him close his eyes. He took a final, calm breath, and as he let it out, his body shuddered as his life ended. I wiped tears I hadn't known I had cried from my face and turned to Doctor Phlox and T'Pol. Both looked at me solemnly. 

"He's gone," I said quietly. "I think I need to be alone for a while, Doctor." He nodded, and turned to his computer. "I'll bring you the translation in a few hours." 

He nodded again, but as I left Sickbay he called to me. "Hoshi? What was his name?" 

I turned and replied, "Krailen." 

"Thank you." 

I walked out of Sickbay and when the doors closed behind me, I fell to the ground and sobbed. I cried for Krailen's mother and father, for his brothers and sisters. I cried for the bard who had saved Krailen from death and had given Krailen a reason to live, only to die himself. I cried for Uedana, murdered in the prime of her life, and for the children Krailen had left behind to seek out a new life among the stars. I cried for the crew of the _Takey Skei_, who had fought so hard only to die. I cried for Krailen, who was followed by sorrow and tragedy his whole life, no matter what he did or where he went. I was angry that he had brought his sorrows to _Enterprise_, and to me. How could he have made me feel this much after knowing me for just a short time? How dare he invade my mind and manipulate me like this? 

And then I wondered, how could he have found the strength to go on, time after time? Perhaps the bard who nursed him back to health after he tried to kill himself gave Krailen something to live for. What could it have been? A song, maybe? I didn't remember anything that fit that criteria specifically, but maybe I would if I went through everything Krailen had said. With this thought in mind, I got up, dried my eyes, put my hair back in a ponytail, and started walking down the corridor. I eventually found myself in the Hydroponics Bay, and sat down next to Justin. There was an empty PADD on a nearby bench, so I set it to record/transcribe and told Justin everything Krailen had said, and tried to find what it was that had given Krailen the will to go on. But I didn't find anything. When I was finished relating the story, I fell asleep next to Justin, and dreamt of Krailen. 

I suppose I woke up a few hours later, but I hadn't been paying much attention to the time. I made a last check of the information in the PADD, and sent it to Doctor Phlox. I didn't know if Krailen was still in Sickbay, and didn't want to find out. 

I found my way back to my quarters, took a shower, and went to bed. 

I didn't wake up until 2000 hours that night. I somehow felt much more rested than I had in weeks, which was very nice. I took another shower, changed into a clean uniform, and was halfway out the door when I noticed an oddly shaped package on the table. I went back, smiled at the familiar ivory paper, gold ribbon, and folded card. I read the note on the table from Diana. She said that my secret admirer had left another gift, and she had brought it in, and hoped I felt better soon. I unwrapped the present, and found a bottle of expensive-looking sake, and two sake glasses. I looked around for the card, and found it under the paper. It had a picture of the sun shining through clouds on the front, and inside was a haiku. 

_

To celebrate life   
With its sorrows and its joys   
Is what friends are for.

_

I thought about the poem all day. I guess that's what friends are for. To comfort you when you're sad and to laugh with you when you're happy. I'm so glad that I have friends. There are so many times my life would have been much worse then it was, just because I had friends near me. I think the sake is a symbol of shared happiness. I haven't had any yet, though, I plan to share it with my secret admirer, whoever he may be. I imagine we'll toast to our friends, and the ship, and things like that. But I promise the first toast I drink to will be Krailen. He wanted me to remember him. 

I will, always. 

~***~ End Personal Log. ~***~ 

~*~ 


End file.
